


Burn This House Down

by Picklez4Me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arson, BAMF Regulus Black, Child Abuse, Fiendfyre (Harry Potter), First War with Voldemort, Gen, Good Regulus Black, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, House Elves, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), No beta we die like regulus, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black Needs a Hug, Regulus Black-centric, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Walburga Black's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Picklez4Me/pseuds/Picklez4Me
Summary: In the middle of drowning in an Inferi-infested lake, Regulus recalls some forbidden knowledge from the Black libraries, and thus changes his fate.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Regulus Black & Black Family, Regulus Black & Death Eater Characters, Regulus Black & Kreacher, Regulus Black & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black & Voldemort, Regulus Black & Walburga Black
Comments: 116
Kudos: 300





	1. Near Death Experience

**Author's Note:**

> This is me indulging in my Arsonist Regulus fantasies and exploring the uses of Fiendfyre in Harry Potter. I have never written fanfiction before, and this is unedited, barely plotted out, and mostly written on the fly, so sorry in advance.

_December 22, 1979_

The arms were - clawing him, tearing at him, ripping him apart.

_Well_ , he thought deliriously, _this is what I get for joining the Death Eaters. At least I’ll have a good story for the afterlife?_

Even in the cold, cold water, the potion he had ingested burned in his stomach with the heat of a thousand suns.

_Fire_ , he thought. _Fire, fire, fire, . . ._

His hand was still clenched around the handle of his wand. It tensed, and a spell he had not thought of for so long, rose up in his mind. He wrenched his arm as forcefully as he could out of one of the Inferi’s grip, and pointing downward, chanted out the incantation for Fiendfyre as forcefully as he could, despite quite literally drowning at the moment and on his last breath. The bubble that rose from his mouth was pitiful, and his lungs immediately started inhaling water, but it seemed his intent was more than enough; the thought of a raging, billowing inferno in the pit of his stomach had conjured what seemed like a physical approximation of the burning in his lungs. Immediately, the water underneath him sizzled violently, and he found himself being blasted right out of the water and onto the rocky banks from which he had pulled the chain for the boat. In a matter of minutes, he had been fed a torture potion, gotten clawed by Inferi, nearly drowned, nearly boiled himself like a lobster, and finally launched onto rock at a high velocity. It was a miracle he wasn’t unconscious. As it was, Regulus was feeling what was surely fifty shades of pain, and he gripped his wand like a lifeline. Snakes and chimeras were still gleefully leaping from it into the water, incinerating vast swathes of Inferi even as they cowered away from the light.

Regulus stared a bit, panting and watching the fiery animals dance across the surface of the water until it seemed there was nothing left for them to consume. He flicked his wand and sputtered out the muddled countercurse, and the animals that had been streaming from his wand seemed to swoop right back into it with a hiss. The water, which had previously been teeming with the bodies of the animated dead, was now still save for the steam rising from it and the bubbles now petering out.

  
 _Well_ , he thought to himself. _What to do now?_


	2. Master Regulus Is An Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kreacher contemplates his master's stupidity while carrying out his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeskip backwards to Kreacher's POV. I know I keep jumping between POVs, but I really wanted to put in some Kreacher-Regulus interaction without writing a whole other story. I'm not sure how to feel about the memories part of it - on one hand it feels kinda cliche to write Wally as abusive but at the same time I can't think of her as anything but such. Also, I get to maximize angst so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

When Regulus was a young child, he often found himself constantly circling back to the Black family library. The room was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge, with towering shelves his little kid height was unable to reach without the help of Kreacher and his levitation charms. It was all very fascinating to his inquisitive child self, and while he had been left with many a mental trauma due to some of the  _ very _ graphic imagery in certain texts, his mind had absorbed the knowledge like the dry sponge it was. So of course, the second he heard from his house elf what had transpired, after frantically expelling the remains of whatever the hell his dearest friend and caretaker had been forced to chug, he connected the dots and realized that this hole he had dug himself into was going to become a bloody crater if he didn’t  _ do something _ .

“Master Regulus is being an idiot!” Kreacher shrieked, wringing his gnarly old fingers.

“Don’t be silly, Kreacher,” Regulus said grandly. “I have you, don’t I? You’ll be able to destroy the locket, I’m sure of it. Once I’ve gotten it out, it’ll all be over. Someone’ll have to AK the bastard at some point, and it’ll finally stick…”

Privately Kreacher thought to himself that Master Regulus had probably gotten a few screws knocked out of him at some point by Mistress if he surely thought that old Kreacher was capable of such feats. He had been right near that lump of jewelry, and its ominous aura certainly seemed much more powerful than anything he had, ability to bypass apparition wards or not. And what if that wasn’t the only one?

Regulus seemed incapable of thinking reasonably at that moment, however. “Don’t you see? I’ll be dead but it’ll be for the better, it’ll all be better. No - no more of this meaningless, absolutely meaningless bloodshed, no more burning muggles or what not . . . I mean, honestly, we go to Hogwarts on a train! A bloody train! A muggle invention . . . hypocrites, the lot of them . . .” He swung around suddenly, a maniacal gleam in his eye. “A note! Kreacher, I’ll leave a note. Imagine the look on his  _ face _ !” He pulled a piece of parchment out of his bedside drawer and a quill, scribbling out a note in elegant script and signing off his initials with a flourish. Taking out the transfigured fake locket, he opened up the latch and placed the carefully folded note inside. He swung the chain over his neck and got up, placing the Black signet ring on his desk. The mad glint in his eyes had intensified, replacing his previous mirth with a vengeful determination. 

“It’s time, Kreacher,” he said firmly. “Take me to the cave.”

***

The potion  _ burned _ . His very lungs felt as though they were on fire. Another swallow, another sensation of hot coals being raked over his stomach lining.

_ Crucio _ . His mother standing over his twitching body coolly, saying calmly “A lesson in what shall happen should you choose to follow the path of your shameful former brother . . .”

Kreacher pushed another cup of the potion into his mouth, tears streaming out of his eyes and spindly fingers trembling.

“Enjoy your place as the new Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black,  _ brother _ ,” Sirius spat out disdainfully, his window broken of its enchantments and pushed open.

Another mouthful. Another memory.

_ The basement was so dark, so cold, what did he do, why did he have to be punished, why - _

Was this hell? Was this his penance for his cowardice, for his willingness to be led astray by the honeyed words of a deceitful man, for being such a soft idiot to believe joining the Death Eaters would make him amount to anything?

Kreacher had finally finished feeding Master Regulus the potion. He felt miserable, watching his master moan incoherently at the demons inside his own head and the physical pain that he too remembered so clearly. Kreacher would have been perfectly fine drinking the potion instead of his master if it meant he wouldn’t have to see the Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black writhing on the floor of a dark cave, crying out at the illusions of his worst memories. However, Master Regulus was insistent that he be the one to do so. “You’re basically the one that raised me, Kreacher,” Regulus had said passionately. “What kind of ward would I be if I let you suffer like that again?”

Admittedly, Kreacher had been pleased to hear that. Mistress Walburga, for all that she was a powerful and stately witch from the house of Black, had never paid as much attention to her second son. Kreacher had always been the one to feed Regulus, put him to bed, conjure whimsical illusions for him to play with as a child, even teach him how to cook when the child had gotten bored of his constant studies. Kreacher doted on Regulus, and in turn, Regulus would dote on him, buying him presents on Christmas, of all things, and furnishing his lodgings as comfortably as possible. But seeing him like this now made Kreacher feel like running headfirst into a wall for not protecting Regulus, which he had been expressly forbidden from doing so a few years ago by Regulus himself.

Regulus thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out the fake locket. “K-kreacher . . . replace the locket and  _ go _ ” he choked out. “You mustn’t tell anyone from the family, alright? No . . . no one can know. Go and destroy . . . it.”

Kreacher could only look on as Master Regulus moaned and clutched his stomach, grasping feebly for water, water that was only available at the edge of the cave where the hands of the dead awaited. He could only watch as the second Regulus’ hand touched the surface of the water, a rotting white hand thrust out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him down. More and more hands appeared, and despite his struggle, he only lasted a few seconds before being dragged down unceremoniously.

With a heavy heart and tears leaking out of his eyes, Kreacher apparated away to fulfill what he knew would be his master’s final request.

And then he felt his name being called again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell I'm projecting my own problems with the wizarding world's hypocrisy in Regulus' rant. Let me know what y'all think in the comments!


	3. Regulus' First Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before Regulus goes to the cave, he goes on a raid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, all aboard the angst train I guess? I wanted to show the motivation for Regulus deciding to just suddenly go off and get KOed, and when I read the books I got the impression that Regulus saw some shit and was like "bitch I'm out of here". So this is Regulus' POV the day before the Cave incident.  
> TW for child abuse and general Death Eater fuckery

_ December 21, 1979 _

Regulus had gotten off the train warily that day, unease pooling in his stomach. Something was going to happen today, he was sure of it. His mother had sent him a very sternly worded letter two weeks ago, telling him that under no circumstance was he to stay at Hogwarts for Yule, and that he was expected to come to Grimmauld Place as soon as he got off the train. He had no clue what his mother wanted from him; he had been doing well in all his classes, he was managing his prefect duties and his Quidditch practice, and nothing he had said or done had hinted at a note of dissidence from him. Regulus had ordered Kreacher to stay holed up in the kitchens and his cupboard for the time being, so there shouldn’t have been any way for him to be seen by an outsider.

He turned on the spot and Apparated, appearing in front of Grimmauld Place. The house loomed as always, with the layered wards and enchantments on it making it appear warped from the distance.

Putting up every single mental wall he could muster, plus a veneer of cool indifference, Regulus strode in through the door of Grimmauld Place, which swung open for him through magic alone. Kreacher was there, ready to whisk his trunk upstairs to his bedroom.

As he walked further up, the feeling of dread grew increasingly urgent. What in Circe’s tits was going on? This was his NEWTs year, he should be at school, using the remainder of his time to study till it felt like his brain was going to leak out his ears, not being called home like some disobedient dog. Whatever the situation was, it must have been urgent if they were calling him now.

When Regulus entered the drawing room, the first thing he noticed was his mother’s eyes zeroing on him and sharpening, and he gulped internally. Those eyes meant that she wanted something, and from him specifically. The next thing he noticed truly made him want to turn tail and topple himself off the staircase. Bellatrix was standing next to Walburga, her curly black hair flowing unrestrained over her shoulders and lips pulled into a smirk.  _ Don’t fucking panic _ , he thought to himself wildly, praying that his shields held up and none of his internal turmoil managed to leak out onto his face. Walburga and Bellatrix seemed to feed off those bits of weakness from him like sharks.

“Mother,” Regulus said, greeting Walburga with a nod. “Bellatrix.”

“Stand up straight, boy,” Walburga sneered contemptuously. “It does not befit your status to walk around like a sniveling child.”

_ Didn’t you just call me a boy though? _ Regulus thought to himself. Then he immediately berated himself mentally for even thinking something that snarky in their presence.

“Oh, but dear Reggie here is still but a child, in the eyes of our Lord,” Bellatrix cooed sweetly. “We’re here to change that today.”

Regulus eyed Bellatrix, letting the question on his mind slip to his expression. “And what is it that you ask of me, Bella? I’ve NEWTs coming up, as you know, so this must be something fairly important for me to have been called upon so suddenly.”

Bellatrix seemed to have found this statement utterly hilarious, letting loose a peal of laughter. “NEWTs? Why, this is far more exciting and important than those old things, and it’s not like you’ll need them now that you’re heir. And don’t tell me you need to study; I’ve seen the research you’ve done for our Lord, and it’s far above the difficulty of anything Hogwarts could offer.” She seemed to have almost a prideful gleam in her eyes at that, and Regulus shamefully felt a rush of warmth go through him at that. _ Someone’s proud of me! _ “No, I’m leading a raid on a Muggle town, and I’ve offered Aunt Walburga to have you join us for it, as a learning experience.”

Regulus debated what to respond with. “I see. Thank you then, for this opportunity. Hopefully I learn something from it.”

“You will,” Walburga said severely. “You are still far too soft to be a suitable heir. Your father was much the same, but at least he had the luxury of staying out of the way. You do not have the same. You should be grateful that Bellatrix came to you.”

Regulus bowed his head in acquiescence, fighting the urge to run screaming. He didn’t want to go on a raid, he didn’t want to learn anything from Bella, hell, he didn’t want to be anywhere  _ near _ a 10-foot radius of Bella. But he didn’t say anything. Angering Walburga and Bellatrix at the same time would probably be like releasing twenty hunting crups in a room with a single Muggle. “What will I need?”

Bellatrix pulled out a mask and another set of dark robes from her own robes. “This,” she crowed, “is for you. You’ll need it for the revelry. Put it on quickly now, we haven’t much time!”

Something inside Regulus seemed to twist at the word ‘revelry’. He knew exactly what Bellatrix’s idea of ‘revelry’ was, and he was not keen to revisit. He accepted the mask and robes, inwardly releasing a sigh at having his face hidden finally. “Very well, Bella. Shall I Side-Along with you?”

“Of course. Come along now, Reggie.”

As Bellatrix pulled on her own mask, Regulus glanced over at his mother. Walburga was looking at him detachedly, almost bored. “Do try not to be another disappointment to the House of Black today, Regulus. We’ve had far too many of those recently, and from far better wizards and witches than you.”

Regulus felt the white hot rush of shame that usually accompanied one of his mother’s stinging remarks, and tried to ignore the voice that told him how true that was.  _ Sirius was always a better dueler than you. He was always more like Mother too, even if he left just because of that. Andy was Head Girl, and Narcissa before you. When have you ever been the best? _ “I won’t, Mother.”

He held onto Bellatrix’s arm and they Apparated away.

***

They appeared in a darkened alleyway, where several other figures in dark robes and masks were waiting. Bellatrix took her place in front of the group while Regulus drifted off to the side, trying to blend in with the darkened brick walls. He had no idea how he was supposed to do this.  _ Merlin, I can barely cast a Cruciatus properly. And I’ve only ever used animals, not real live humans . . . Muggles. They’re Muggles, they’re below us, they’re not human . . . _

Bellatrix, meanwhile, had been giving out orders to the assorted Death Eaters. “Rodolphus and Rabastan, you two can take care of the southern end. Regulus, you’ll be joining me.”

Regulus truly wanted to take a leaf out of Kreacher’s book and bash his head into the wall at that point. Instead, he followed silently alongside Bellatrix as she strode out of the alleyway and immediately sent a Blasting Curse at the nearest building. Truly, she seemed to be having the time of her life, gleefully sending curses and hexes flying every which way, leaving rubble and destruction in her wake.

Idly, Regulus flicked out random spells at intervals, usually when Bellatrix called out to Regulus and encouraged him to “join her”. Thankfully no one was demanding too much of him yet, and hopefully would continue not to do so.

He evidently thought too soon. Bellatrix had gotten antsy, wanting to get up close and personal with her victims. She stopped in front of a man lying in a pool of his own blood and cackled, before hitting him with her signature  _ Crucio _ . He knew from experience that hers was truly painful, rivaling that of Walburga’s and even the Dark Lord’s. When she seemed to tire of her play, she looked over at Regulus and smirked. “Reggie dear,” she began playfully. ”I can’t seem to muster up the hatred to even begin to  _ try _ to end this vermin’s misery. What do you say to letting this one be your first kill?”

Regulus’ blood ran cold. How in the world was he supposed to do this? He had been detaching himself earlier, Occlumency shields running high so as not to have bile rising at the sounds of tortured screaming ( _ it sounds the same as any wizard _ ) and the smell of blood ( _ like Sirius, like himself, all the same _ ). But now . . . now he was being pulled into the fray.

_ Hatred _ , he thought to himself,  _ pure hatred _ . And before he could think the image of his mother’s sneering face flashed through his mind as the words escaped his lips.

The green light struck true.

Bellatrix is cheering, and the people are screaming, and all Regulus can think is that his soul has been damned. The man, who had been screaming in pain earlier, was now still with glassy eyes that were unseeing, and Regulus couldn’t tell which of the two would have been worse. To be living in such agony, or dying without being able to even say goodbye. And he would have had to say goodbye, right? He must have had others he cared about, possibly a wife or a child, a job he looked forward to or maybe despised. Regulus didn’t know. And he shouldn’t care, except he does, and damn it, now was not the time to have a breakdown, not with Bellatrix next to him and spells flying through the air.

“Congratulations, Reggie,” Bellatrix crooned. “Aunt Walburga will be so proud, once I tell her, you might even move up in the Dark Lord’s standing again, although you’re already so high . . .”

Bellatrix’s praises fell on deaf ears as Regulus followed her numbly. He was  _ weak _ , he knew that, but he didn’t know in what way. It was all too much. Bellatrix suddenly pulled him to a stop in front of one of the buildings, a taller one with many of the windows shattered and bricks torn out of the side. “I’m going to teach you a spell, Reggie,” Bellatrix whispered. “The incantation is  _ Ignis Lapidum _ . And the wand movement is an arc and downward slash. Think you can do it?”

“Yes,” Regulus said in a monotone, refusing to betray his current state of turmoil. “ _ Ignis Lapidum _ .”

The flames that erupted from his wand were a violent purple color, reaching out and caressing the stone bricks of the building before  _ seizing _ them and seeming to turn them to blackened, smoky puddles. In fact, as he watched in horror, the flames seemed to be physically melting the rock, making it ooze like some horrific stone ice cream cone. And they were spreading, with the debris and rock strewn about as fuel for its hunger. The people weren’t being injured, but every single Muggle structure in the town seemed to be in the process of turning into boiling hot pools of liquid rock and metal.

Suddenly, the crack of Apparition could be heard throughout the streets, and Bellatrix snarled in rage. “The Aurors!” she spat. “Regulus, grab my arm. I shan’t have the heir getting himself offed in the middle of his practice run.”

She Apparated him back in front of Grimmauld Place, and Disapparated just as fast. Regulus, realizing that he still had the mask and the dark robes on, pulled off both quickly and shrunk them to stuff in his pockets. He then quickly cast a series of harmless household spells in order to make sure there was no trace of what was surely an illegal Dark spell that Bellatrix had just taught him, as well as the Unforgivable before that. Then he stumbled inside.

Immediately, his mother was upon him. “So?” she demanded. “How was it? What did you do? Why is Bellatrix not with you?”

Regulus desperately did not feel like getting interrogated at this moment. Quite honestly, he wanted to go to the bathroom, dry heave into the toilet since he had no food to throw up, have a cry, and then have Kreacher tuck him into bed. But of course, that was not to be. So he answered wearily, “It was quite alright, Mother. I killed a Muggle and set the buildings in town on fire. Bellatrix stayed back to deal with the Aurors.”

“Did you at least  _ torture _ the Muggle beforehand?” Walburga asked impatiently.

“I -- no Mother, Bellatrix did so. She requested me to do the killing for her, and so I did.”

“Tch! Of course you couldn’t even do that beforehand. Bellatrix is a  _ witch _ , and even she can do better than your whiny, pathetic self!”  _ Isn’t she insulting herself by saying that?  _ “Did you even try? Why do I even ask, of course you didn’t! A Killing Curse is easy, a mercy even. The least you could do is a Cruciatus, why, I could manage that when I was even younger than you!”  _ Oh, she’s been drinking again _ . “In fact, I think you might even need a  _ practical demonstration _ . . .”  _ And there it is _ . It didn’t seem to take much to set Mother off these days. She had already been out of sorts after Sirius left, with no one left to match her in colorful words and volume as well as cursing, and without that she had turned to her nearest punching bag, which was of course, Regulus. And that was fine, of course. Except Regulus didn’t fight back. He wasn’t like Sirius, loud and wild and the epitome of what a Black was in everything except his beliefs on blood purity. He was more like his Grandmother Melania, who despite marrying into the Blacks still managed to have an unwavering kindness that had endeared her to Grandfather Arcturus in the first place. Regulus not fighting back only made Walburga even angrier, at this sniveling little  _ weakling _ who was somehow supposed to be the next Head of House.

“ _ Crucio _ !” Merlin, he was tired of this. It never got any better, really, and even though he had become of age Mother still did this when she was in a tizzy. And he let her, because he was terrified of causing a scandal, of angering her even more and being overpowered, even of losing the little goodwill she showed him every now and then. He had trained himself to not scream for at least the first minute or so, and thankfully this time she let go after a few dozen seconds. Panting, she turned around and swept off to the drawing room, likely to continue drinking her wine and stare at the tapestry blankly for another few hours.

“Kreacher,” he whispered. Kreacher popped into existence and took notice of Regulus immediately, bringing him back up to his bed and laying him down under the covers. He even brought him the Nerve-Strengthening potion and Pain-Relieving potion, as well as Dreamless Sleep.

Regulus had not fought back this time not because he was scared, but because he knew it was what he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walburga right now is actually pretty different from how she was like before in my head. Currently, her OG eldest son has run away and her husband is dead, so she's even more batshit than she was before. Also i headcanon Pollux and Irma not being the best parents and probably making her even more fucked up.


	4. He's Alive!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Regulus is alive, he must figure out what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! This one's kinda fillery, cause it's mostly about Regulus' (extremely short) recovery period from the cave. Surely that won't bite him in the ass later? Hope I can get to more arson in the later chapters.

Regulus had not planned to make it out of the cave alive. On the contrary, he had very much been looking forward to not making it out alive. Being alive meant having to live up to people’s expectations, putting in effort to do things he didn’t want to, feeling constant guilt and pain and fear, and just plain suffering in general. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that the universe didn’t give a fig for what he planned.

He decided to take stock of his injuries. The shirt and jumper he had had on while being pulled down by the Inferi was shredded, and criss-crossing dark scratches were bleeding down the length of his arms and on his ribs and stomach. They seemed to be infected with some sort of venom too, likely from the Inferi. His hands were slightly blistered from the force of the flames that had been previously spewing violently from his wand. The potion was likely still wreaking havoc on his stomach and throat, judging by the ever-present burning sensation, but at least the thirst had seemed to die away. One of his ribs seemed to have cracked, and he was bruised all over from the entire ordeal.

Since he sure as hell wasn’t about to try apparating or swimming in this condition, he decided to call on Kreacher yet again (house elves were a godsend for situations like this). “Kreacher?” he rasped out.

Immediately, Kreacher blinked into existence in front of him, letting out a surprised squawk at what he saw. “Master Regulus is alive!” he cried out, leaping forward to hug Regulus with all his might. “Kreacher saw Master Regulus get dragged by those horrid beasts, but - but he survived!” A fresh onslaught of tears poured out at that last statement, and Regulus allowed himself to bask in the comfort of Kreacher’s embrace for another moment, before pulling away. “I-yes Kreacher, I am . . . alive. But injured. Would you be able to get me back to Grimmauld Place?”

Kreacher nodded furiously, blinking away tears. “Kreacher will do so immediately!”

He whisked Regulus away in a far calmer manner than the tube-like sensation of regular apparition, and Regulus immediately collapsed onto the floor of his bedroom, whimpering and trying his best not to let out any noises that could be heard by the portraits outside the room. Kreacher, looking extremely worried, vanished and returned quickly with what seemed like the entirety of the potions cabinet, as well as other assorted medical supplies.

While Regulus was sure that his current injuries likely required far more attention than what he could give, he wasn’t about to risk someone like Mother or, Merlin forbid, the Dark Lord finding out that he had been mysteriously injured. Mother was cold on a nice day; seeing him so utterly weak and beaten would surely lead her to start spewing even more vitriol about how the house of her forefathers was falling to powerless and incompetent Heirs (not fair. Hadn’t he strove to be everything Sirius wasn’t? Hadn’t he spent his entire life projecting the very same ideals she had? Hadn’t he joined the Death Eaters to appease her for once?) “Kreacher,” he said, “do not tell anyone that I’ve been injured, alright? I’ll be in even more danger if someone finds out and asks about it.”

Kreacher nodded. “Kreacher understands,” he said firmly. “Kreacher will not tell anyone.”

Slowly but surely, Kreacher managed to patch him up. The wounds inflicted by the Inferi were cleaned and bandaged, the blisters on his arms and the bruises were covered with salves, and, once Regulus had forced himself to throw up most of the potion (it burned just as much on the way out as it had on the way in) he downed Skele-gro and a few blood replenishing potions for good measure. He finally crawled underneath his covers once he had done so, having changed out of the filthy rags that he had previously had on.

Then, he slept.

***

December 23, 1979

“-oy! Boy! BOY! Insolent child . . .”

As Regulus slowly came back to consciousness from a deeply troubled sleep, he could hear his mother pounding on the door.

“What in the world are you doing in there at this time? Up! You know your cousin Bellatrix is coming again today! You’ll be having an audience with the Dark Lord today! You must be ready in an hour!”

Oh, Regulus thought, that was supposed to happen today.

In all honesty, Regulus had blocked out pretty much every other piece of information from his mind other than “fetch Horcrux or die trying” for the past twenty four hours, so that too had slipped his mind. He had obviously assumed he would be dead by now, so he hadn’t thought ahead to what was going to happen had he lived. Now he was here, and he realized with growing horror just how much of a shitshow it was going to be.

I’m gonna have to Occlude until it feels like I’ve dissociated, he thought dryly. And I’m going to have to send Kreacher and the Horcrux all the way to bloody France.

Gingerly, Regulus picked himself off the mattress. The bandages covering him held, and he found that he could still walk, albeit with a limp. He was stiff all over, and it felt like a hippogriff had trampled over him and then proceeded to slash him, but as long as he knocked back a couple of numbing potions, he felt that he would be fine for a few hours.

“Kreacher!” he called out. Kreacher appeared before him.

“Is Master Regulus alright?” Kreacher inquired.

Regulus gave Kreacher a tired smile. “I’m as alright as I can be given the circumstance, and thanks to your care. Do you have the locket somewhere safe?”

Kreacher nodded. “Kreacher has hidden the locket in the basement. The locket feels the same as all the other trinkets in the basement.”

Regulus shuddered. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that; growing up in a house that gave off the same vibes as a Merlin-forsaken Horcrux did not bode well for the well-being or sanity of any past or present residents of 12 Grimmauld Place. “Well Kreacher, I’d like for you to go to the summer home we have in France. The Dark Lord will be coming here today, and I don’t want him seeing you or possibly sensing the Horcrux.”

Kreacher bowed his head. “Kreacher will do so.”

“And Kreacher, make sure to keep yourself safe, alright? I didn’t realize it until I felt it myself, but the thing makes you want to . . . hurt yourself. Remember my orders to not do anything of that sort. In fact, while you’re there, try to keep it as far away as possible. Maybe, like, bury it or stuff it in one of those magic-proof containers for a bit.”

Kreacher seemed to be fighting off a chuckle. “Kreacher will endeavor to hide the locket and stay out of harm's way.” He gave Regulus a look. “Kreacher must, or Master Regulus will surely find himself in danger once more.”

Regulus laughed. Kreacher’s backhanded concern was always amusing to hear, and it secretly made his heart warm at the thought. “All right, now get out of here already. I’ll call you back when the coast is clear.”

Hearing the dismissal, Kreacher bowed once more and left. Regulus sighed once more and steeled himself once more.

The Dark Lord would be here soon, and he would have to be ready.


	5. The Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus moves up in the Dark Lord's circle and learns some interesting new information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I have so many ideas for what's going to happen, and I'm so excited to write them but I have to put in all the plot points in between first, which is a bit hard.

The Dark Lord stood in the drawing room with Bellatrix by his side, an eerie imitation of a pleased smile stretched across his face. Regulus couldn’t help but wonder what Bellatrix saw in the being; he was just so utterly repulsive and  _ ugly _ . Maybe he had been handsome once, but his current features were warped and smeared, like a wax candle melted all over. Those creepy red eyes were not doing it for him either.

“My Lord,” Regulus murmured, giving a slight bow, although it pained him to do so.

“Regulus,” he returned in an amused voice. “Bellatrix has informed me that you were responsible for the fire that took place at Islington two days ago. She also said you killed a Muggle personally.”

“Indeed I did, my Lord,” Regulus said, trying to make himself sound proud. He looked up at the Dark Lord in the eye, and he felt the brush of Legilimency pass over his memories of the day, focusing on the feeling of intense hatred he felt while casting the curse while simultaneously trying to ignore the reason for it.

The bluff must have paid off, for Voldemort paid no mind to the rest of his thoughts. “That was a very successful mission then. It was right of Bellatrix to include you.”

Bellatrix was certainly happy to hear that. “Of course, my Lord! I knew Reggie would be perfect for this. I’ve been teaching him personally for a while now, and he shows much promise, especially with his fire spells. He got the Stone Burning curse on his first try!”

“And that was the one responsible for destroying . . . what was it, seventy five homes?” Voldemort said, stroking his chin.

_ Seventy five homes? _ Regulus thought, horrified.  _ How did my curse even work for that long? _

“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix enthused. “I believe it would be in our best interests to include dear Reggie in future raids. His prowess such spells would certainly come in handy, and he could use more first-hand experience.”

“You have most certainly proven yourself in that area thus far,” Voldemort mused. “It would be prudent to include you in future raids, as an example of what exactly shall happen to those families that oppose our goals.” Seeming to come to a decision, he leveled another look at Regulus directly in his eyes. This time he parsed through Regulus’ mind viciously, sending his thoughts into disarray, and Regulus clung tightly to his hidden memories, thinking of his previous childish hero-worship of the Dark Lord, his desire to join, to prove himself to be better in everyone’s eyes. The Dark Lord could  _ not _ figure out just how much he had strayed from the path.

When he was done Regulus felt an ear-splitting migraine coming up, and he struggled to hold his composure in the face of such a blatant assault on his mind. As Regulus regained his focus, he could hear Voldemort telling Bellatrix “. . . will keep him informed on future missions.”

Then he turned to Regulus and said ,”You are dismissed. I have something of great import to discuss with Bellatrix, and it is private.”

Hadn’t the Dark Lord said something similar when asking to borrow Kreacher? Suddenly Regulus felt an icy vein of fear pass through him. No -- he couldn’t, could he? He couldn’t possibly--

Regulus had been standing frozen outside the drawing room, unable to hear anything due to the silencing charms placed outside the door. He snapped out of it when Bellatrix swept out of the room, looking if possible even more pleased with herself.

“What was it, Bellatrix?” he ventured, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of bounds by asking.

“The Dark Lord requested the usage of  _ my _ vaults personally for a beloved artifact,” Bellatrix bragged. “I told him I could do him one better and have him use the Black vaults. Much more secure, and far more prestigious.”

Regulus tried to process this information as fast as he could while trying to spin a way to get more information out of Bellatrix. “A beloved artifact?” he asked. “He must trust you with this object very much if he’s giving it to you to keep secure.”

Bellatrix sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Of course he does!” she cried. “I’ve only attended the most raids out of any of his followers, and taken down the most Aurors. Why, he’s been teaching me some things personally, Reggie, I’ve tried passing some on to you in your lessons . . .”

Ignoring the implication that he was getting second-hand knowledge in dark spells from  _ Voldemort _ , Regulus tried to needle out some more information out of Bellatrix. “Any idea what it looks like? I might be able to figure out some magical properties of the artifact and replicate them.”

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. “A cup, I believe. He didn’t specify what kind, but apparently it’s golden? And an heirloom of sorts, he’ll be giving it to me to transport next week.”

Regulus tried not to cheer on the spot at having managed to get this much information out of Bellatrix. “Intriguing. Perhaps it’s got a cornucopia type of enchantment on it. Might be able to research transporting charms. Well, I’ll see you later then Bellatrix?”

Bellatrix perked up. “Of course. I’ll tell you when the next raid is.”

With that she Disapparated, leaving Regulus to stumble upstairs and heave into the toilet, bile crawling up his throat.

_ Merlin _ , he thought,  _ Another Horcrux. Another one of those abominations _ .

What had Bellatrix said? A golden cup? Possibly an heirloom, would be stored in the Black vaults.

“Kreacher,” he gasped out, gripping the sides of the seat.

Kreacher appeared, looking concerned over Regulus’ current state. “What has Master called Kreacher for?” he inquired. “Has the Dark Lord dismissed Master already?”

Regulus could feel his breathing becoming increasingly rapid, and he was trembling all over. “Kreacher,” he whispered, “Kreacher, there might be another one of . . . of those  _ things _ .”

Kreacher was silent at this revelation. He didn’t seem to know what to say. He had expected something of that kind, but hearing it from his Master’s mouth obviously made it more real.

“Kreacher,” he sounded more frantic, ”I was to  _ die _ . I thought I would die doing something good. I thought I could fix everything and go out like a hero, but there’s  _ more _ of them!” The last part came out as a sob, and suddenly Regulus found himself crying uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears from coming out. He was so tired, so stressed, and this new discovery had left him a frazzled mess. What would have happened if he really  _ had _ died? No one would have known to search for more of those things, hell, no one would have known they existed in the first place. The Dark Lord would continue to live, nothing to stop him from murdering more Muggles and Muggleborns, nothing to end what he knew would surely be an era of tyranny and despair under that vile creature masquerading himself as some sort of traditionalist Pureblood Lord. How could he have possibly supported such a thing? How could he leave everyone behind without ensuring that the man was mortal for certain? What would his death have even accomplished?

Kreacher was around him all of a sudden, holding him as he spiraled. “Master Regulus is alive right now,” he declared. “Master can worry about such things later. Right now, Master must rest properly. Master is far too young to carry so many things.”

Eventually, Regulus managed to get himself under control. Wiping the tears off his face, he looked at Kreacher and asked, ”Do you have the locket with you?”

Kreacher snapped his fingers and a dark box appeared. The aura was still ominous, but it was more muted now. “Kreacher will put this in the basement. Such things will make Master Regulus more tired.”

Regulus let himself be whisked back to bed and fussed over, with his bandages being reapplied and pillows fluffed. Now that his anxiety over the matter of the Horcruxes had diminished, he found that he was desperately tired, perhaps even more so than he had been the day before. Kreacher, who knew that Mistress Walburga would likely want a proper excuse for why Master Regulus had not immediately returned to her to inform her of what the Dark Lord had said, appeared before her and informed her that “Master Regulus has come down with an unexpected cold, and will have to rest for some days” to which she scoffed and muttered darkly under her breath about useless heirs.

His dreams were full of rotting hands and brilliant, shrieking flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Regulus had a breakdown when he realized there might be more Horcruxes. At least Kreacher's there to get him to bed.


	6. Weasels Get Set On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus lets off a little steam during lunch in the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000+ hits! Woohoo! I still have no clue how to actually characterize Regulus, like I have 20 different headcanons going on at all times. I hope this chapter doesn't sound too different or feel unbelievable.

_ January 1, 1980 _

It was a very long holiday that Regulus ended up spending at Grimmauld Place, and he couldn’t have been more relieved to finally be returning to Hogwarts. He had spent the entire time fending off Mother’s biting criticisms and hexes, as well as frantically perusing through his notes and research as to what this possible new lead on a Horcrux could be. It had been relatively easy to figure out, as he had already noted that the locket was a relic of Salazar Slytherin’s, and the other most well known Founder’s artifact next to Gryffindor’s sword was Hufflepuff’s cup. The description of it had matched with what Bellatrix had told him, and he had practiced attempting to transfigure cups based on the few illustrations he found.

However, that also begged the question of why Voldemort would even want to turn something of Hufflepuff’s into a Horcrux. Slytherin’s locket was understandable; the Dark Lord never wasted an opportunity to flaunt his Parseltongue abilities and his supposed Slytherin lineage. But Hufflepuff’s cup? How would he have even managed to get his hands on it? It was strange, and Regulus desperately wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Sitting in a compartment by himself, Regulus contemplated all this as well as how in the world he was supposed to juggle this and his studies at the same time. He was behind on a week of studying for NEWTs, and, oh god, he just remembered he had  _ Quidditch _ to do. His body twinged painfully at the thought.

Regulus stood up as the train slowed and grabbed his trunk, shrinking it to place in his pocket. Now that he was back at Hogwarts, he would have to interact with all the other Slytherins, and it would prove to be a tricky endeavor, considering his . . . changed ideals. He was already considered a bit of a shrinking violet amongst the Slytherins, and his family name was pretty much the only thing keeping him from being completely ignored. Yet Bellatrix’s word as well as his seniority had made him into one of the people that wannabe Death Eaters went to in order to be considered for initiation. Regulus didn’t particularly want to send any students at Hogwarts off to be child soldiers, but he still had a facade to keep up.  _ Maybe I ought to insult them till they back off _ , he thought idly. Holding them to such high standards might scare them enough to reconsider what they were signing up for.

He skipped the feast and went straight to his dorm, unpacking his trunk and warding his bed until it was likely as secure as a nuclear bunker. His paranoia was at an all time high, rivaling the infamous Auror Moody’s, and his digestive system was still all kinds of fucked up from that damn potion (seriously, he should search the damn thing up in a textbook already, because how did something that foul even manage to stay together in potion form?).  _ Kreacher would have a fit if he knew I was skipping meals again _ , he mused.  _ Better not tell him that _ .

He would have to hit the Hogwarts archives soon. His newspaper clippings only went back so far, and they revealed little to nothing about Voldemort’s past or personal life, which clearly had something to do with the Horcruxes if his hiding place for one of them was a random cave in the middle of nowhere. Regulus was uncertain of where to start, but he knew he currently had a few leads for the man’s early life, mainly that being his apparent Slytherin lineage. As far as he knew, the Slytherin line had died with the Gaunts, who had consisted of Marvolo, Morfin, and Merope Gaunt. All of them deranged, poverty-stricken disgraces not fit to be mentioned in polite company. Very much like the Dark Lord in manners, but how in the world would they have managed to get close enough to another human being to bugger them?

_ Oh . . . oh,  _ no, thought Regulus, immediately trying to banish the thought of something so disgusting as  _ that _ . Either ways, there was a possibility of some sort of illegitimate child floating about, and perhaps that was from where the Dark Lord hailed. And wouldn’t that be utterly hilarious, having a bastard be the one that so many purebloods had bowed down before?

Regulus sighed and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep. For now, it would have to wait. He was somehow still bloody exhausted.

***

Regulus’ day had been going as well as it could be, all things considered. Transfiguration and Charms were basically review at this point, and his Ancient Runes research had been at least an Exceeds Expectations in his opinion, so he wasn’t too worried about classes. The real trouble came during lunch, when a familiar voice called out to him from across the Great Hall.

“Oi Black! Black! Over here!” It was Barty Crouch Jr., one of the Slytherin’s in his year. Regulus was slightly wary of Barty; never had he seen such an ardent or outspoken lover of Voldemort other than Bellatrix, and while Regulus wasn’t too sure of how much the Dark Lord had interacted with the other, it was enough that Crouch seemed to treat the former like a father figure.  _ Merlin sodding daddy issues _ , Regulus thought darkly. Obviously Crouch Sr. barely paid attention to his son if he was getting away with this while his own father was Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“What is it, Crouch?” Regulus asked, affecting a cool, bored drawl.

Crouch forged onward, undeterred by his tone. “Good to see you, Black! I just wanted to show you something of interest in the paper here.” He thrust out a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ to Regulus.

Regulus scanned the article on the front.  **Muggle Town Destroyed in Death Eater Raid: 14 Dead and 30 Injured** .

“Another attack, I see. And what of it, Crouch?” Regulus replied, trying not to show how shaken he was.  _ At least one of those fourteen dead is because of me _ , he thought absently, before quashing the thought back down like he seemed to do with everything these days.

“Well, you seee . . . ,“ Barty began, suddenly smirking. “The town was burned down by a very specific dark spell. In fact, they had to wait for the flames to burn out on their own because of how impossible they were to put out with normal countercurses.” He leaned in. “They’re suspecting that it’s a spell from one of the old families. A similar signature to some of your relatives, but still different enough.” He gave the most obvious of significant glances. “Perhaps you’d know something about it?”

Regulus was struggling not to give in to the urge to smack Crouch right then and there. Did the fool have no idea of what subtlety was? He may as well have stood up on the table and shouted for all to hear that a Black had participated in the raid. “If you’re looking for a tutoring session on  _ Incendio _ then I believe you can ask a first year,” he responded.

“Aw, but that was nothing like an  _ Incendio _ !” Crouch exclaimed. “ _ Apparently _ , the fire was purple, and it burned the  _ stone _ . How would you even do that?”

“I don’t know, Crouch,” Regulus gritted his teeth. “You’re a bright guy, surely you can figure it out on your own.”

“Why figure it out on my own when I could ask the expert?” Crouch asked innocently.

Regulus inhaled. “I don’t believe I’m all that much of an expert on pyrotechnics. Perhaps ask someone else instead.”

“I don’t believe that,” Crouch continued. “Surely, Black, you of all people would be able to manage a bit of fire.”

That was it. Regulus was getting tired of this snot-nosed little creep acting like he was slick when he was nothing more than an attention-starved brat going to all the wrong places for validation. “Would you like a practical demonstration?” he said coldly, reaching for his wand.

Apparently Crouch hadn’t got the memo that goading a Black was like playing fetch with a grenade, because he replied,”Oh go on, I do enjoy a good show!”

Regulus proceeded to pronounce the most venomous  _ Lacarnum Inflamari _ he could, and holy shit, was the flame supposed to come out that big? Because Barty’s robes were on fire, and he was screaming “bloody fucking hell Black, I didn’t mean it THAT WAY-” and it was smelling an awful lot more like smoke than a normal Ignition spell usually did.

Someone apparently decided to take mercy on Crouch and douse him with an  _ Augamenti _ , leaving him dripping wet and spitting like a furious weasel. Slughorn chose that moment to enter the Great Hall, noticing the commotion and hurrying over. “Boys, what in the world is the meaning of this? It smells like something was burning here!”

_ Way to state the obvious _ , Regulus internally rolled his eyes. “Oh, it was nothing much, Professor,” he said airily. “Barty here just wanted to know what a proper Fire-Making Charm looked like, and it got a bit out of hand. Isn’t that right?”

Crouch gave him a vicious glare. “Yes,” he said grudgingly. “That was all.”

“Well, don’t be practicing spells in the Great Hall now, there’s far too many people here!” Slughorn said. “And Bartemius, isn’t that a first-year spell? You’re taking your NEWTs this year, surely you should know this by now!”

If it was possible Crouch became even more like an angry weasel. “I just wanted to see what it looked like one more time.”

Slughorn prattled on about safety precautions and whatnot, all the while Crouch sat fuming in scorched robes and a puddle of water. The acrid scent of burned fabric lingered in the air, and Regulus took his chance to leave, with the gazes of those who had witnessed him trailing his back all the while.

While the fear of retribution was there, Regulus found that overall, setting that idiot on fire had been stress-relieving indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Regulus to set at least one other person on fire by the end of this chapter, so Barty it is! I checked the dates on the wiki and technically speaking they match up with what his actual year would have been, which is pretty cool. Also, can I just add just how much of an unsubtle yet genius bastard Barty Crouch Jr. is in the books? Like he straight up just says most of his plans out loud, but everyone else is way to fucking dense to get it. And like, he has to be a master of manipulation, is super good at magic and kind of a genius (like 12 OWLs apparently), and daddy issues on top of that. What an amazing villain, honestly.


	7. A Slytherin Without Self Preservation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus figures out some stuff and finally gets those gaping wounds in his stomach checked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is here! My spring semester just started, so I didn't have as much time to work on a chapter this week. But I finally got to work on it today, so here it is!

_ January 5, 1980 _

The library was fairly quiet that day as Regulus made his way through the shelves, going further and further back through the archives. He had been unable to search the past few days due to the sheer quantity of assignments as well as his grueling Quidditch practices; Shafiq had been putting them through the grinder, and some of Regulus’ wounds had actually opened up afterwards, which was frankly alarming and led him to raiding some of Pomfrey’s supplies at three in the morning while clutching a bleeding cut on his rib and praying that his bribes to Mrs. Norris had paid off and kept the little menace off his tracks.

The Hogwarts libraries had records of the names of previous students in its registries, if Regulus remembered correctly. Obviously, he wouldn’t be able to find anything like a medical file or grades or anything too specific. But a name would probably be more than enough. He currently had a few leads; the first being that it was most likely a Slytherin and the second being that their name might have one of the typical Gaunt names in it. So something with an ‘M’. As for the time period, well, he hoped it was sometime within the century, or he might just end up setting another person on fire.

The hours passed by quickly, and Regulus had scoured through approximately forty years worth of names before he noticed something that screamed jackpot. A certain ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’, who had attended from 1938 to 1945? Regulus immediately scribbled down the name as well as the years in his notebook. He was sure that this was a lead, he could feel it. If his hunch was correct . . .

Regulus positively ran to the section of the library that held information on the Ministry. He needed books on previous heads of departments; he may have memorized the names of pureblood ancestors for the past twenty generations, but he hadn’t yet gotten to the entire ministry, despite the overlap. Morfin Gaunt had been the last Gaunt heir, and he died in Azkaban; if anyone knew where they lived, it would be someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time. There was a frightening number of sub-departments, but the ones responsible for the arrest would be part of -- there! Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, and the previous head had been Bob Ogden, from 1923 to 1969.

Regulus was positively bouncing as he walked back to his dorm, thoughts racing as he formulated a letter in his head. He already knew that the existence of a “Tom Marvolo Riddle” -- a pureblood wizarding name paired with a Muggle first and last name -- was more than enough proof that  _ something _ was up with the Dark Coot. But he needed confirmation, needed to know more, get to the  _ source _ of his information (yeah sue him, he was the one kid at Hogwarts who cited his sources in his essays, no matter how mercilessly he was teased by the others because knowing where your information comes from is  _ important _ , damn it!). He was sure that this Bob Ogden would have more information on the Gaunts, and thus possibly Voldemort.

When Regulus had finished writing his letter, he rolled it up and tied it, then proceeded to spell it with a few encryption charms and a hex that took off the fingers from unwanted hands. His letter didn’t have anything particularly incriminating, but if the information somehow got back to the Dark Lord and he connected the right dots . . . well, it wouldn’t be good. He walked to the owlery calmly, making sure to seem relaxed and unhurried despite his excitement. It wouldn’t do to have someone asking questions about his correspondence.

***

“Mr. Black, a word, if I may?”

Regulus froze. What did Pomfrey want with him?  _ Even if her supplies are lower, how could she possibly know it’s me who took them? _

He turned. “Yes, Madam?” he asked politely.

She nodded. “I noticed that you appear to be injured -- in fact, bleeding quite a bit from several areas. You didn’t seem to have noticed, but I must insist on having it at least checked.”

Regulus looked down.  _ Oh _ , he thought dumbly. His shirt was, in fact, currently stained red in several areas, and they seemed to be getting only bigger. He hadn’t felt anything due to the several numbing potions he’d knocked back a few hours ago.

“I -- well, I suppose I should,” he murmured, feeling absolutely mortified. How in Merlin’s name had he not noticed this sooner? Had anyone else seen him? What if someone from back home found out and asked questions?

While considering all the possible ways he could be crucified for this, he followed Pomfrey down to the hospital wing. Then he realized with panic that the Dark Mark was surely going to be noticed if he was made to shuffle off his sleeves.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me Madam, but may I keep my shirt on while you’re healing me?”

Madam Pomfrey gave him a long look. “I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, Mr. Black. It’ll be a bit more difficult to examine your injuries, but I’m sure I can manage.”

Regulus ducked his head gratefully. Pomfrey may have been stern, but at least she never asked too many questions.

He sat on one of the beds and shrugged off his cloak, then unbuttoned his shirt carefully. The bandages he had applied yesterday were completely soaked in blood now, and he felt a little dizzy just from looking at it. Why hadn’t the scratches healed yet? It had been almost two weeks, and yet the wounds still looked nearly fresh.

Pomfrey went to work immediately, getting out washcloths and wiping the blood off the injuries and organizing supplies in advance. Then she leaned in with her wand, examining one of the scratches stretching along his rib curiously. She muttered a spell and golden numbers trailed around his body, clustering near the areas with the Inferi scratches.

“These wounds are weeks old, Mr. Black. I took a closer look and they seem to be laced with a sort of venom, which appears to have been forcing the cuts to stay open for longer than they should. I’ll have to take a sample of it to be sure, but I believe I know what it may be from.” At that she gave Regulus another pointed look. “Since the venom has been in your system for weeks, it’ll have to be extracted over a few days. Once that’s done, I can properly bandage these wounds.”

Regulus swallowed dryly, and nodded. He hadn’t bothered to research what effects the Inferi might have beyond “shred you to bits” due to the assumption that he wouldn’t live, but now he was here and he had found out that apparently his veins had been coursing with venom the entire time?

“For now, all we can do is wrap them up as tightly as possible, and change them often. I’ll also have you take a blood replenishing potion twice a day until the treatment is done, as well as exactly one dose of numbing potion.” She glared at Regulus. “I might also like to add, Mr. Black, that self-medicating is highly frowned upon.”

She cast another diagnosis charm on him, and her eyes widened and she turned back to him. “. . . More injuries? Goodness, what could possibly have caused you to develop internal burns to this degree!” She hurried back to her supply closet, digging through shelves. “Drink this, Mr. Black. Your stomach and throat both showed signs of potion burns, although I have no idea what would have possessed you to drink something so dangerous. I checked earlier of course, but aside from normal healing potions and the venom you don’t have any other substances, so I can’t identify what it was.”

Regulus felt himself grow red under Madam Pomfrey’s griping. Sure, his voice had been a bit raspier, and it had hurt to eat, but he had been sure that it would all heal on its own. He had assumed that his meager self-care would get him through the rest of the year. He hadn’t thought his injuries were  _ that _ bad.

“. . . not to mention the use of Skele-gro! Thankfully you only used a small amount, but  _ never _ use it at home without at the very least consulting a textbook on the measure for doses, as well as assessing the size of the fracture. And you’re currently undereating, getting dangerously close to malnourished, I’d chalk it up to the burns preventing you from eating, but this seems to have been going on far longer than that. . . . curse damage too.”

Pomfrey appeared to have finally run out of steam. Her shoulders slumped, and she suddenly looked very tired. “Mr. Black,” she said at last. “I can’t prevent you from getting injured outside castle grounds. I can certainly patch you up for as long as the remainder of the school year, but you are responsible for taking care of your body and staying away from danger once you are out on your own. If you can’t develop your sense of self preservation beyond what it is right now, then there’s absolutely nothing anyone can do to help you, short of forcing you.”

And wasn’t that embarrassing, a Slytherin being told by the school matron to develop a sense of self preservation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . I'm frankly ashamed at how many articles and pages I had to flip back through to make my plot contrivances work with canon. I'm like fairly certain there would have been a record of all the names of students that attended Hogwarts somewhere in the library, and if there are whole books out there with the names of pureblood families dating back to the Middle Ages then there's definitely one for department heads in the Ministry (especially since that's more recent). In addition, I wanted to address Regulus' injuries, but someone else had to do it, since Regulus sure as hell wasn't about to do it. I like Pomfrey, and I like to think she has a soft spot for Regulus after putting up with his brother and his friends for so long.


	8. Another Piece to the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets a response to his letter and goes out for a ride on his broom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite satisfied with this chapter, but it was getting long and the info in it mostly needed to be said.

_ January 7, 1980 _

The following days were full of time spent in the hospital wing, getting venom slowly drawn out of each wound and being forced to eat by the resident house elves, whom had apparently been informed about Regulus’ less than stellar eating habits and taken it upon themselves to make sure he was keeping up with his meals. One time an elf had popped into the middle of his bed while he was reading a book on the different varieties of curse fire and he had shrieked high enough that if anyone was nearby he would have Obliviated them on the spot. They had been bringing him dinner.

So it was with great excitement that Regulus beheld a letter addressed to him from one Bob Ogden, delivered by a cheery ashy-faced owl. The letter was fairly hefty, and as he picked at his breakfast he found his mind wandering to the letter that was now stuffed into his bag. He couldn’t open it just yet, there were far too many eyes in the Great Hall first thing in the morning. Barty was evidently still miffed about the fire incident; he was staring daggers into Regulus’ back as he exited and walked up the stairs to enter his first class.

He was distracted throughout the day, unable to focus on the professors lecturing in front of him or properly write down his notes. During Defense he nearly uttered one of the curses from his arsenal of darker spells in the middle of a mock duel, and only managed to change it to a shield spell midway. The resulting bastardization sent fragments of shield shards bursting everywhere, and a few chairs were destroyed. Professor Simmons had dryly uttered “Maybe leave the spell creation for after you have a Ministry-approved license, Black” and Violetta Fawley had given him a dirty look after the duel was called off, as her jumper had been torn.

Once classes for the day had ended, Regulus went down to the dungeons to grab his notebook, before climbing the stairs all the way back up to the seventh floor. A few years ago, Regulus had struck up a conversation with one of the house elves that had been cleaning the common room, and they had hit it off. Toffy had cryptically told him to “just go to the seventh floor and walk around a bit” when he had bemoaned the lack of a proper selection of instruments for Regulus to practice at Hogwarts, and while he was confused, he had assumed that perhaps there was a storage room with a piano somewhere on the floor.

That was not the case. He had wandered through the halls, unsure where to go, since he didn’t have all too many classes on the seventh floor then. It was across from the tapestry of Barnabas that Regulus had stopped, his third time walking back and forth the corridor having produced a door out of seemingly nothing. He had opened the door and inside was an entire concert hall, with a wide selection of instruments sitting on the stage. Regulus was absolutely flabbergasted, especially when he came back and the room was no longer there, and when he had come across Toffy again he asked him point blank what exactly the room was. He had replied “Whatever you need it to be, sir. It is the Come-and-Go Room, the Room of Hidden Things, the Room of Requirement.”

After running a series of experiments, where Regulus came to the left corridor on the seventh floor and did various things, he had concluded that calling upon the room required him to think of whatever he needed and walk back and forth at least three times in order for it to appear. He had to think hard about exactly what he needed from the room if he wanted it to appear in a specific way, and if he didn’t, it would somehow produce something that his subconscious had randomly been thinking about (in this way he had discovered an  _ excellent _ set of books on ways to hex your siblings discreetly). The room would not produce food for him, but it would produce medical supplies, mattresses, storage space, and basically any room that Regulus could think of. It was an architectural masterpiece, in Regulus’ opinion, and although he wasn’t sure how to tackle researching it, he knew one day he wanted to do just that.

What Regulus wanted now was a private, preferably locked room for him to read his letter. His third time across the hall produced a discreet little door across from the tapestry, which he opened and shut quickly. The room currently had a fireplace and a small deep red armchair across from it, as well as a table in front of it. The rest of the room was sparse, but that was alright; Regulus wasn’t particularly in need of an aesthetic at the moment.

Carefully, he pulled off the seal of the envelope and pulled the roll of parchment from inside it.

_ Dear Mr. Black, _

_ I must say I was quite surprised to receive your correspondence this weekend, as I’ve been retired for over a decade, and it has been a while since someone has asked me about my past cases. The Gaunt line has also been extinct for a while, so it’s not discussed in many circles other than the older ones now. In any case, the one you are inquiring me about was one of the more interesting, if not disturbing ones, so I can’t say I fault you for asking about it. _

_ The first time I was asked to check on the Gaunt household -- or shack should I say -- was during the summer of around 1925 or so. I believe the reason for it was Morfin Gaunt performing magic in front of a Muggle, Tom Riddle, as well as performing dark magic on him. The town was called Little Hangleton, and while it was pleasant enough, although a bit shabby, the Gaunt Shack was, well, hideous. There was even a dead snake nailed to the front door, although whatever the reason for that I’ll never know. When I arrived, Morfin Gaunt was there with his wand and a bloody knife, and after saying something in what may have been Parseltongue, as it sounded very much like a snake, he immediately assaulted me with a spell to the face. _

_ Morfin’s father, Marvolo, came out, and he was just as, if not more unpleasant. I had already sent quite a few letters from the Ministry asking for Morfin’s presence at a hearing which had remained unanswered, so I had been forced to come there. The inside of the house was in bad shape, and I believe Morfin was hissing to an adder when I came inside. Gaunt apparently also had a daughter Merope. Poor girl, she was clearly being mistreated, so much so that I’m fairly certain her magic wasn’t working properly for her. I was repeatedly interrupted while trying to read to them the list of charges against Morfin. Marvolo apparently felt the need to air out his family heirlooms -- Slytherin’s locket and the Gaunt family ring -- and he made his ideas on Muggles fairly clear, as well as his approval of Morfin’s actions. Nearly choked his own daughter showing me the locket, I almost went for my wand there. _

_ Something strange occurred then. A Muggle, the same one that was assaulted by Morfin, came by riding horseback with some girl. The Gaunts were hissing for quite a while, and the girl Merope, seemed to be getting more and more distressed -- up until the elder Gaunt attempted to strangle her, at which I immediately cast Relashio on him and tried to hold him back. Morfin was not pleased with this, of course, and I had to run for my life and call for reinforcements to remove the both of them. Morfin was tried and sentenced three years for his multiple counts of assault to Muggles as well as performing magic in front of them, and Marvolo six months for attacking multiple Ministry employees. _

_ That wasn’t Morfin’s last stint in prison, of course. He murdered an entire Muggle family -- the same one the man he attacked was from -- and owned up to it completely when we arrived at the scene. A Killing Curse on all three of them, his wand had evidence of it as well. Marvolo was already dead by then, and Merope hadn’t been seen in some time too, so with Morfin dead, that was it for the house of Gaunt. _

_ That’s about all the experience I’ve had with the Gaunt family. I do hope this helps with your ongoing research; I haven’t shared this story with a great many people, and it’s nice to get it out there. _

_ Regards, _

_ Bob Ogden _

Regulus ruminated over the letter thoughtfully. There was a wealth of information here that Regulus wanted to explore. Little Hangleton? The Gaunt family ring? Slytherin’s locket? And apparently the Gaunts had even had a daughter -- he had never heard anyone talk about one so he assumed she probably hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, or one of the older purebloods at the parties would have said something about them at some point.

Then there was the fact that the name of the Muggle had been  _ Tom Riddle _ . What kind of coincidence was that? A wizard at Hogwarts having the same first and surname as a Muggle, and the middle name of a wizard that lived nearby, and a pureblood no less. There was a scandal in there somewhere, his pureblood sensibilities could almost smell it. His inner gossip was itching to go down to Little Hangleton right then and there and interrogate everyone about what had happened.  _ I need a proper excuse to get out though. Or wait for a Hogsmeade weekend _ , he thought.

Regulus noted all of this, then pasted the letter to the inside of his notebook. He didn’t want to burn it just yet, and it would be more secure inside than lying about. He also decided to write a short letter thanking Ogden for his information; it had been extremely useful and had given him more than a few leads on where his investigation should go next.

***

“That’s the last of it, Mr. Black. I’ll be fully closing these wounds now, and then they’ll be covered with some dittany. Unfortunately the scars can’t be fully gotten rid of, due to the . . . nature of the magic in them.”

Regulus gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Madam. And it’s fine about the scars, they can be covered easily.” Regulus was, in fact, a little bothered by the startling white gashes that were now present on his torso, back, and arms, but he wasn’t about to complain about something so relatively trivial compared to steadily bleeding out over the course of several weeks.

“No need to thank me, it’s part of my job,” she replied briskly. “I’d rather you not have to come here at all, but that’d be asking for the impossible now. You can thank me by not coming back sometime in the next month at the very least.”

Regulus chuckled slightly at that. “I’ll try, Madam Pomfrey,” he said. “Just be grateful I’m not like my dear brother was, right?”

Pomfrey sniffed at that. “I don’t doubt that, of course,” she said crossly. “Honestly, some of the spells I came across! You’d think you’d need a cursebreaker trying to fix some of them. Of course, they usually wore off on their own, but when they were in effect . . .”

Regulus left the Hospital Wing cheerfully. He was finally free of the daily treatments! He was no longer constantly oozing blood and aching everywhere, and he could move without worrying that his bandages would shift and stain another shirt.  _ This calls for a celebration _ , he thought giddily.

Regulus stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch, Nimbus in hand. The day was clear, and although the January weather meant that the air was still cold and biting, he had cast a Warming Charms and bundled up in a scarf and sweater as well as his dragonhide gloves.

He hopped onto his broom and kicked off, soaring up high immediately and letting himself drift lazily in slow circles to warm up. Being able to simply fly around was one of the reasons Regulus liked being Seeker so much; he didn’t have to spend time throwing or aiming anything, he could simply let loose and be free while keeping an eye out for the snitch. And no one expected a Seeker to divebomb you in the middle of chasing after a Quaffle either, so it wasn’t as though he was completely useless either. One time, when Sirius had still been in Grimmauld Place and had been going through his Muggle vehicle phase, he had raved to his friend Potter on his mirror about something called “drifting” that Muggle cars did that involved skidding sideways. It sounded highly dangerous, but Regulus wasn’t about to let that stop him, so he attempted it on a broom. The ensuing falls had thankfully not been fatal, and his sacrifice wasn’t in vain either; he had managed to make his broom turn almost completely in a circle in place. That move freaked a good amount of people out when he used it in the middle of one of his matches, and to his pleasure no one else had managed to fully get it either.

As Regulus flew, he wondered idly what the future held. He would almost certainly be getting called on another mission for the Death Eaters, and once he graduated the Dark Lord would probably want to make use of his connections and wealth to dig his claws further into the Ministry. Regulus didn’t want to work in the Ministry; he cared far too little about legislature and legal matters for that to ever be something he worked for permanently. Yet right now, this was an advantage he had. Grandfather Arcturus was Head of House, but he hadn’t done much to interfere with the Ministry lately due to not wanting to get involved with the current war. With a few strings pulled, he could probably arrange for a visit to the Ministry . . .

Regulus slowly pushed himself down into a descent, pulling himself up at the end and letting the tips of his shoes graze the grass underneath. The sun was setting now, and his nose was numb from the cold. One of the house elves would probably be looking for him soon.

His stomach growled. For the first time in a while, he was hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob Ogden was a pretty cool guy in canon. We don't see much of him, but Harry was apparently impressed by his lack of concern over blood status, especially when talking to Marvolo. In my headcanon right now, he's retired and somewhere in the Caribbean, living out the rest of his years far away from all that Voldemort nonsense at the moment. Don't question how an owl got all the way across the sea in two days, it's magic. Anyways, Regulus is slightly less depressed now that he's getting somewhere with his investigation and isn't walking around bleeding, so he's actually gonna eat now! I also wanted to show Regulus doing something normal for once instead of constantly worrying about Voldemort, so I added the little broom scene.


	9. Several Dummies Were Harmed In the Making of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus tries out a few new spells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit filler-y, since the next chapter is a bit of a time skip and I need something to fill it in between.

_ January 12, 1980 _

Regulus woke up with a gasp, heart beating rapidly and a cold sweat cooling on his face as he looked up into the canopy of the four-poster bed. The memory of the screaming Muggles and the sickly green light of the Killing Curse, roaring flames and rotting grey hands, were all still vividly imprinted in his mind. Just thinking about what he had seen, what he had  _ done _ , made him feel sick yet again. He rolled over and hugged a pillow to his chest, as he waited for the ache in his stomach that seemed to develop whenever he felt guilty to pass.

_ I can’t continue like this _ , he thought to himself, squeezing the pillow even tighter as the face of the man that he had killed surfaced once more.  _ I have to stay on the Dark Lord’s side for more information , but I can’t keep hurting people. _

What was he to do then? Bellatrix had sent him a letter with Apparition coordinates yesterday, as well as the date of his next Hogsmeade visit, so he was clearly due for another meeting. What would be revealed at it, he had no idea of, but the fact that he had apparently pleased the Dark Lord with his previous mission meant that this would most likely be preparation for another one.

Regulus cast a  _ Tempus _ . It was currently four in the morning, but he felt alert, and he knew that if he stayed in bed he would likely just be killing time until breakfast. He sighed and got up, stretching his arms and walking over to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit.

Once he had finished he walked back to his bed and opened up his trunk, searching for one of his textbooks to settle down and read for the next few hours. As his eyes roved over the many titles, he noticed the book he had previously been reading on curse fire. The book was fairly mundane compared to some of the texts he had read at Grimmauld Place, but it was good at describing the purpose and effects of many of the fire spells that existed; the spell that Bellatrix had taught him was apparently strong enough to melt only certain rocks, and although it spread quickly, didn’t stay burning for much longer once the spellcaster’s concentration on the spell was gone. The book’s words on Fiendfyre, on the other hand, were very much the opposite. It could supposedly burn for days, or even weeks, if left unchecked. The curse was extremely volatile due to its sentience as well, and often required entire teams of wizards to stop if the caster lost control.

So the question was, how in Merlin’s name had Regulus mastered it on his first try?

Regulus wanted to try out a few things with his spellcasting, but he would have to sneak out of the Slytherin dorms first. Glancing around, he noted with satisfaction that all the other boys seemed to be well and truly knocked out, and cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself. It wouldn’t fool anyone looking too closely, but anyone else up at this time was likely too tired to notice.

While walking up the stairs, Regulus’ thoughts wandered once again to his next Hogsmeade weekend. The meeting was scheduled for three, so he would have some time to kill before heading over. Perhaps he could head over to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. He hadn’t had a butterbeer in a while, although perhaps now that he was of age, he should be trying out Firewhiskey a bit more. It wouldn’t do to be a Black with low tolerance, after all.

At last, Regulus found himself in the seventh floor corridor. This time, he wanted a room for practicing duels and spells, so that was what he thought of. The room was now a vast round stone circle with cushions, dummies, stacks of wood, and other practice items arranged in piles. The ceiling was high and arched , and there were torches lining the walls in order to light the area. When he walked to one of the doors lining the room and opened it, he found various tools and trinkets sitting on the shelves, as well as more books on various defensive arts and theories as well.

Regulus walked to the center of the room, book in hand. He floated one of the dummies to stand in front of him. It was mildly unsettling, the blank indentations where eyes should be, yet having a nose and mouthlike features jutting out.

He really wanted to get rid of it.

Regulus looked down at his book, scanning the page on the Fire Rope.  _ Visualize the flames, then imagine shaping it into precisely the shape that you want it to be. The wand movement for this spell can vary, although most utilize a circular movement around the head. It can also be as simple as a forward slash, or any sudden movement of the wand, although it takes a greater degree of concentration and control to do this. _

Banishing the book to the side, he raised his wand and stared down the dummy. The flames were easy to imagine; he’d had more than enough experience with them in recent times. He concentrated more deeply, thinking of the fire being squeezed, compressed into one singular beam of red-hot energy that moved at a flick of the wand. 

“ _ Ignis Flagello _ !” he cried, snapping his forearm forward. The whip-thin flame that snaked forward cleanly sliced the dummy in half, producing a sizzling noise and the scent of burnt cloth and feathers. The ground where the whip had hit was also now a sooty black, and the whip pooled at his side where his wand rested, giving off an ominous glow and heat.

_ That was oddly satisfying _ , Regulus thought to himself as he looked at the charred remains of the dummy. He wondered what would happen if he tried it on one of the hardier dummies. Summoning a few of the bigger dummies, he gave an experimental flick of the wrist. The whip surged and wrapped itself around the dummy, and when he tugged it forward it  _ exploded _ , bits of fluff and down floating down like snow.

He was really getting into it now. Summoning forth an entire ring of dummies, he conjured the rope again and this time spun his arm around his head, allowing the flame to gain more traction before letting it rip, at which point the rope flew around the room, igniting every single dummy and creating a ring of fire with him at the center. Regulus looked on, enchanted by the molten red and golden colors that blended together, converging into a firestorm that rose up to nearly the top of the ceiling. The heat was almost suffocating, and Regulus could feel sweat dripping down the side of his face, but it was exhilarating, seeing so much power that came from him, and him alone.

The temperature had now reached a truly uncomfortable degree, and Regulus let the flames drop, banishing the flames with a slash. The ground was now gritty and scorched with black and muddy orange stains, and most of the items that the Room had produced were well and completely incinerated. Now that he wasn’t focusing on maintaining an entire firestorm, he felt oddly dazed, concentration entirely shot. He stumbled back; thankfully, the Room had produced him a chair that he now sat back on, breathing heavily as he recuperated from the spell he had just performed.

So, maybe that explained a few things. Regulus had quite enjoyed the spectacle he had created, and more than that, the sheer amount of power at his disposal. He had let the fire loose when he wanted to have a bit of fun, but it was still always under his control, and it responded to him happily, doing his bidding like it wanted to rather than fighting to do its own thing.

Regulus glanced again at the effects of the fire. He didn’t want to risk using Fiendfyre in the Room, but he knew that he had been able to successfully wield it earlier, while he was more than half dead and in a body of water no less. He had a feeling that any fire spell he used right now would be successful, and that was something that cheered him greatly indeed.

***

“Why do you smell like smoke?”

Regulus looked up. Crouch Jr. was giving him a suspicious look, and Regulus fought off a smirk as he remembered him batting the flames off his robes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Crouch?” he said in an amused tone, as he fluffed his pillows and rearranged the sheets.

Silvanus Wilkes, one of the other Slytherins in the dorm, spoke up. “Leave it, Crouch. You do remember what happened last time you provoked Black, right?”

Crouch glared and huffed, crossing his arms. “Of course I do. I’m simply asking a question, not provoking him.”

“Come now, you have 12 OWLs. Surely you can rub those braincells of yours together and figure something out on your own,” Regulus said cheekily. He hummed as he left the room, the other boys in the room snickering as Crouch protested weakly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this is a bit like a training arc for Regulus, since he can't just randomly have OP fire powers without testing them first. Also, the spell that Regulus is using is based off the one that Dumbledore uses in both the cave and his duel with Voldie. I despise making incantations for spells, since I'm essentially ripping Latin off google translate. I might go back and change them up one day just to be more creative. Quite a few things were set up in this chapter, and it's gonna get a bit hectic soon. The dates I put up are really more for my benefit, so I can keep the timeline in order.


	10. A Hogsmeade Trip to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets buzzed at the Hog's Head, hears a prophecy, skedaddles on over to a Death Eater Meeting, and nearly punches someone in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than most of my others have been. Enjoy!

_ January 26, 1980 _

The students walking down the path to Hogsmeade were all chattering cheerfully, but there seemed to be a constant foreboding air hanging over all of them. Regulus noted the older students that were patting and rechecking to make sure their wands were still in their pockets or holsters, as well as the younger students that were clustered together in bigger groups than there would have been usually. He himself had taken to keeping his wand holstered around his waist, as it tended to get tangled in his robes. The strain of nearly a decade of war was apparent in the subdued atmosphere and the many buildings that were shabbier or looked as though they had been repeatedly repaired hastily, but people were still attempting to make the most of it.

When Regulus entered the Three Broomsticks, he was dismayed to find that there were already enough people to completely fill up every single nook and cranny of the pub; Madame Rosmerta looked rather harassed as the patrons continuously called out for more refills and orders. It didn’t look as though the crowd would be letting up soon either.

Regulus decided to continue walking down High Street, looking through the windows of various shops to study the displays. He didn’t feel like buying anything, since he would have to leave for the meeting soon, but it was nice to look at some of the new arrivals anyways.

As he walked, he found himself going further and further into the least frequented areas of Hogsmeade. Here there were older wixen, as well as a greater assortment of what appeared to be creatures, who preferred to stay away from the scrutiny of the wizarding world and have their dealings in the dark. Regulus turned a corner and continued onwards, stopping before a dingy and rundown looking pub with a rotting wooden sign above the door labelled “The Hog’s Head Inn”. Regulus felt both fascinated and disgusted by the boar head nailed to the white cloth on the sign; what kind of charm could have kept the head fresh for so long? The blood too, didn’t even look all that congealed. Whoever owned the bar was most certainly a powerful spellcaster, if not a bit tasteless.

The inside of the pub was even grimier than the outside, with a floor nearly as earthy as the hills surrounding Hogsmeade, and tables that looked as though they hadn’t been touched by nary a rag in decades. The barkeep was an older man, with a graying beard that rivalled Dumbledore’s but with a much sterner expression. He gave Regulus a cursory glance, before going back to his previous task of wiping off one of the glasses with what seemed to be the rattiest piece of cloth in existence; he wouldn’t have let Kreacher get anywhere near something as dirty if he could help it. With a grimace, Regulus sat himself down on one of the rickety chairs in front of the till, hoping that none of his clothes got stained.

The barkeep glanced over him again, this time seeming to look at him more closely. Regulus noticed that his eyes were a piercing blue, somehow familiar, but the thought of who it reminded him of escaped him.

“Well, boy? What’ll it be?” he asked gruffly.

“Just a Firewhiskey,” Regulus replied. It had been quite chilly earlier, and the Hog’s Head didn’t have the same warm atmosphere that the Three Broomsticks had, so he wanted to warm up quickly.

As the man went to work getting his drink, Regulus observed the rest of the clientele. Most were wearing heavily hooded cloaks, and the few faces that he could see were strange, many subtly inhuman. A group of men in the corner were all very heavily scarred, and one of the women looked rather hag-like.

Regulus finally received his drink, and he subtly cast a cleaning charm on the glass before picking it up and taking a sip. The Firewhiskey was potent and he immediately felt a few degrees warmer; Regulus felt rather amused as he thought of comparing it to a Pepperup Potion but with a decrease in sobriety.

He had nursed his drink for several minutes when there was a commotion that could be heard from the wooden staircase behind the bar. The barkeep seemed irritated at this, as he turned around and stomped up the stairs, where there seemed to ensue a scuffle.

“. . . was only confused about which way to go! Oh, let go of me, you old goat!”

“Yeah, yeah, heard that one plenty of times. Get on out now, and don’t let me see that greasy head o’ yours skulking about again, y’hear!”

Regulus sat up, intrigued. Was that  _ Snape _ ? What in the world was he doing in this quite frankly shitehole corner of Hogsmeade? Not that he couldn’t ask the same of himself, but Snape had graduated two years earlier, and had no reason to be wandering about, in such a shady establishment no less.

While Regulus had been wondering all this, the barkeep had returned back to his station in front of the till, muttering angrily under his breath. Regulus downed the rest of his drink and dug around in the pocket of his robe for a Galleon, when he nearly took a spit-take, for in the second time in a matter of minutes, another unexpected person had descended from the rotting stairs.  _ Dumbledore _ was here? What in Merlin’s name had the world come to?

Dumbledore’s ever twinkling eyes seemed to recognize Regulus, for he gave him a smile and said warmly, “Ah, young Regulus! You’ve certainly chosen an unorthodox establishment for your Hogsmeade visit, haven’t you?”

Regulus schooled his expression back into a more neutral mask. “The Three Broomsticks was full, Headmaster,” he replied.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “As it often is during this time of the year,” he replied. “I myself had to make a bit of a house call for an interview here -- I’m sure you remember Professor Andros for Divination, he’s set to retire very soon. I am not all too much of a fan of the art, but there was a special case with the interviewee.” He sighed. “Alas, it wasn’t as fruitful as I would have hoped. I might just have to scrap the class altogether.”

Regulus was a bit sad to hear this. True, Divination was a hit or miss a lot of the time, but the art was still intriguing to learn, especially with a competent teacher. Most people weren’t willing to suspend their disbelief and try to interpret things more than at a first glance, and you couldn’t exactly have a true Seer on hand at all times of day, so there weren’t many practitioners either. Perhaps it was his attachment to the stars that made him enjoy the subject more; it was well known how the stars could be used to divine certain events.

“Maybe you could try asking one of the centaurs?” he offered. “They are well known for their talent in the field.”

Dumbledore seemed to consider this, as he tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “A good suggestion, Mr. Black,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe we have nearly enough peace with the centaurs yet to make an offer. I’ll be on the lookout, but for now, I must head back to the castle.” He turned back towards the barkeep. “And a good day to you too, Ab.”

The barkeep snorted. “Get the hell out of my bar, Albus.”

Dumbledore only chuckled, before finally exiting the bar and leaving Regulus to wonder at the resemblance between the two wizards.

He once again got up to leave, leaving a Galleon and a few extra Sickles before swiftly heading up the stairs behind the till, wondering to himself what was so special about the interviewee. He finally came across a slightly ajar door, which he lightly knocked upon for the sake of his manners.

An insect-like woman, wearing huge, thick glasses that made her eyes seem enlarged like that of a dragonfly’s, as well as several bejewelled necklaces that jingled and clinked together, swung open the door. “Headmaster--!” she started, but then noticed that it was instead Regulus at the door and not Dumbledore. “Oh.” She seemed to deflate. “Who are you, then?”

Regulus blinked owlishly, wondering at the specimen of a human being before him. “I should ask you the same,” he replied. “I noticed Headmaster Dumbledore coming downstairs, and he remarked on a special interviewee for the Divination position, so I had to come see for myself.”

At this the woman seemed to puff herself up. “Why, of course I am a special interviewee!” she cried. “I am a descendant of the great Cassandra Trelawney, renowned Seer! My name is Sybill Trelawney.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. Trelawney? That was indeed a well known name, but he knew as much, if not more than anyone, how little names could mean in the long run. “That’s quite the name. I can see now why even Dumbledore felt the need to come by.”

Trelawney preened. “Yes, of course. The Sight lies within me just as much as it did within my famous ancestor -- it’s only a shame that Dumbledore doesn’t seem to recognize true talent when he sees it.” She sniffed. “It’s not as though you can command these things to happen at will -- you must wait -- “

All of a sudden her entire body seized up. Her eyes rolled up until only the whites showed, and the previously airy and ethereal voice was replaced by a harsh, guttural one.

“ _ The power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . the one who fears death will fear the one who faces it with an open smile . . . In seven ways lie seven ties . . . Severed to make him mortal once more . . . Severed by the one who is his match . . . The power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . _ ”

And just like that, she went back to normal. Her eyes reverted back to their normal position, and she appeared to have woken up from a deep slumber, as she sagged against the door frame and looked around confused.

“Oh? . . . How strange . . . forgive me, I appear to have drifted off a bit . . . silly me, I haven’t eaten anything today. . .”

Regulus gaped at her. Did she really not remember what she had just said? Of course, if what had just occurred was a real prophecy, that made sense, but that also meant . . .

“I’m sorry Ms.Trelawney, I think you should rest. I shouldn’t have disturbed you so soon after you just had an interview; I was just feeling curious about who you were,” he said hurriedly.

Trelawney nodded absently. “Not to worry, dear . . . Seeing can be quite exhausting at times, you know, most don’t think so but it can be a thankless art at times . . .”

Regulus helped her to her bed, making sure she didn’t seem in danger of collapsing, before exiting the room and heading back down to the till. He took out a few more Galleons and put them down in front of ‘Ab’, telling him, “The lady on the first floor seems to be very exhausted, she nearly collapsed on me. She said she hadn’t eaten anything today.” The man nodded briefly, and Regulus left, feeling more troubled than ever.

***

Regulus walked down the street, scanning for anyone nearby who might be looking on. His watch said that it was nearly time for him to join the meeting, and he didn’t want word getting back to Hogwarts that he had been seen Apparating off to an undisclosed location. He would be making several jumps, since the location was so far away, and it wouldn’t be good if his concentration was shot at such a time.

He recognized Snape ahead of him, still looking disgruntled at having gotten himself kicked out of the bar. “Hello Snape,” he said neutrally. “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Snape glared darkly at the grey wall in front of him. “That meddling old goat in charge of the Hog’s Head got me kicked out is what. I was trying to hear what the old bat was saying, but it was a load of rubbish, of course.”

Regulus tilted his head curiously, wondering again why Snape would have been there. “Load of rubbish, you say?” he asked innocently.

Snape turned, absently rubbing his arm. “Complete and utter tripe,” he muttered. “Apparently Dumbledore was going to interview someone for the Divination position. The Dark Lord wanted me to keep an eye out on what the old man was up to.”

_ Ah. So that’s why you were here _ , Regulus thought to himself.  _ The Snape I know wouldn’t be caught dead hanging around somewhere so unseemly _ .

Regulus shook his head. “Well then, I suppose it was a bust?” he said.

Snape nodded gloomily. “Clearly the woman was a fake -- stumbling over her words, vague references with little to no meaning -- I would have laughed her off first thing if she came to me for an interview. Dunno why Dumbledore didn’t do the same.” He sneered.

“I suppose everyone deserves a chance,” Regulus shrugged. He checked his watch once more. “We better be off now.”

He concentrated, thinking of where he wanted to be, before turning on the spot. The process was repeated several times, each jump leaving Regulus a bit more disoriented than the last. His final destination was Malfoy Manor.

Regulus donned his Death Eater robes and mask swiftly, not wanting to risk getting caught in them outside. This was where Narcissa now lived, with her husband Lucius Malfoy.

Regulus was . . . not quite fond of Lucius. He had been in his seventh year and dating Narcissa when Regulus had been in his first year, and the man gave Regulus uncomfortable vibes. Narcissa, with all her faults, was far too good of a woman for him, and Regulus had often despaired at the fact that she seemed well and truly head over heels for the pureblood whenever she had visited Grimmauld Place.

“You just don’t like him because he called Kreacher a ‘filthy little nuisance’ one time,” Narcissa had laughed one time.

Regulus had huffed and crossed his arms. “That is a perfectly valid reason to dislike someone!” he had cried. “You don’t just insult someone’s servant like that.”

Narcissa had nodded, although she had added “he is a bit strange sometimes, Regulus. Perhaps you might want to get a new house elf soon?”

Regulus had not talked to her for the rest of the day.

That wasn’t just it, of course. True, Lucius’ treatment of house elves was abysmal, and Regulus had half a mind to go and free any future house elves that came under his employment, but that was only part of what Regulus disliked about the man. For one thing, Regulus knew that the man had been working his way up the ranks of the Death Eaters for years, and his considerable wealth, along with his involvement with the Ministry, made him a man that one did not want to cross. Narcissa was currently pregnant, and Regulus was worried about how her husband’s involvement might affect her. Their house was already full of so many dark artefacts; what would having the Dark Lord over at their dinner table do?

Besides possible child endangerment, Lucius was also slightly dismissive of Regulus. Which was . . .  _ ugh _ , Regulus really wanted to see what would happen if he set his oh so luscious locks on fire. _ Just _ a bit.

Regulus could hear someone, likely Snape, also apparate in the distance. Narcissa had come to greet him, opening the door to usher him inside.

“Come in, come in,” she said, ever the gracious host. “Regulus, is that you? Come this way, the Dark Lord is currently in the drawing room.”

Regulus followed Narcissa through the manor, taking in her residence. He hadn’t been to Malfoy Manor often, but it was just as gaudy as ever, in his opinion. He grimaced at the memory of the albino peacocks that strutted just as much as their owner in front of the house. The hallway, at least, was a bit more subdued, and the austere faces of previous generations of Malfoys looked on from the frames with severe expressions.

Inside the room was a long table, which Regulus knew hadn’t been there the last time he had visited. It had likely been put there just for the meeting then, he thought. The Dark Lord was sitting at the very front of the table, and along the sides were many more high back chairs that sat the other Death Eaters.

Bellatrix was, of course, in the seat right next to the Dark Lord, and Lucius sat in front of her as well. Rodolphus, judging by the bulky frame, was sitting next to Lucius, with his brother in tow.

Regulus sat himself down in the seat next to Bellatrix, which she had evidently left free for him. He tried to calm himself down mentally, remembering to Occlude his mind. Being so close to the Dark Lord, after what he had just heard . . . it was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Eventually, most of the seats had been filled, and the Dark Lord cleared his throat, instantly quieting the stray murmurs happening across the room. “Now that we have all settled,” he began, “let the meeting commence. Lucius, tell me, how have things been at the Ministry?”

“The Ministry is weakening, my Lord. Thus far, we have managed to infiltrate several of the departments, the most recent of which is the Department of Magical Transportation. Because of this, several Floo Networks have been intercepted and redirected while in use. In addition, it appears as though Minchum will be stepping down as Minister, and the current most likely candidate for the position is Millicent Bagnold, from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Not extremely competent, I’d say, but Crouch Sr. in the DMLE more than makes up for it.”

The Dark Lord seemed to be amused by this. “Well, I suppose soon enough I’ll have a competent Crouch of my own. Mulciber, what of you?”

The man leaned forward in his chair. “A few more Imperiuses here and there,” he said casually. “Unfortunately I’ve been unable to get any of the members of the Order,” he continued,”but some of their safehouses were compromised due to information received from the other Imperiused ministry members. Those were reduced to rubble.”

“That is good news,” the Dark Lord mused. “They’ll likely have difficulty gathering enough resources from a trustworthy source along with finding new locations. Rookwood?”

An affable sounding voice spoke up. “I’ve managed to get in contact with old Bagman’s kid, the Quidditch player. He knew about the current suppliers for the Order’s field potions. Promised him a good word for it, of course.”

And on and on it went. The members that were gathered here all seemed to be of a higher skill caliber or had higher levels of connections, and Regulus had a feeling that this was supposed to be some sort of learning experience for him.

Once almost everyone had appeared to have spoken up once, it fell silent. The Dark Lord was about to make an announcement. He smiled coldly.

“I have received intelligence on the location of one of the members of Dumbledore’s little Order from someone within. The Bones family, as you well know, have been an issue for us in the past. Despite their past noble heritage, they have insisted on consorting with Mudbloods and blood traitors, to the point of even producing progeny with them. Their strong magical prowess, along with their affiliation, means they must be disposed of as soon as possible in order to go forward.”

Regulus remembered Amelia, one of the members of the Bones family, from when he had been a first year. She had been quite serious and intimidating as Head Girl, and seemed determined to set the record straight on everyone’s perception of Hufflepuffs as the meek, unassuming ones. He had been very impressed by her, despite the little he had interacted with her. To think of her as someone with a target on their back . . .

“Why not let Reggie do it?” Regulus was shaken out of his thoughts by the sharp voice of Bellatrix in his ear. He cursed Bellatrix for her incessant desire to prove the mettle of the house of Black in his head.

The Dark Lord regarded her suggestion with interest. “That is an intriguing proposal. Certainly, the young heir has shown himself to be capable recently. However, this would be on a much craftier and powerful opponent. Do you believe he would be able to handle it?”

Since Regulus clearly wouldn’t be able to show his hesitance without immediately being hounded upon for being a blood traitor, he decided that he may as well play it up. “If I may, my Lord,” he began ,“I have been practicing, and I believe I would indeed be able to handle this. In fact, I have been able to conjure and control Fiendfyre. Perhaps if I was to completely destroy the household along with the family, it would send a message to their supporters.”

The suggestion of Fiendfyre clearly caught the Dark Lord’s attention. “Fiendfyre, you say? That would be quite risky. However, it would be very difficult to counteract, and most certainly send a message.”

Bellatrix laughed excitedly. “Reggie!” she crowed. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I didn’t even teach that one to you!”

Regulus shrugged. “You didn’t need to,” he said easily. “I learned just as well on my own. If you doubt me,” he added ,”I could conjure some right now, although you’d probably need a wider space than this.”

The other Death Eaters all leaned back instinctively at that, and for the first time since Regulus had arrived at the meeting, he felt a true sense of mirth.

The Dark Lord gazed at him directly, and Regulus steeled himself, Occlumency barriers locked in. He allowed the memories of the flames, the shrieking animals and the scent of burning flesh overwhelming him.

At last, when he seemed sure of the memories, he broke off the connection. “Very well. Regulus, you will be sent the information on the Bones’ whereabouts soon, along with the time of the attack and some others to accompany you. As for the rest of you, continue doing what you have been. I will let any of you know if you are needed for a particular task. This meeting is dismissed.”

Regulus got up, looking around for Narcissa. She hadn’t technically joined the Death Eaters and therefore stayed out of the meeting, but now that they were leaving she should be nearby.

She was sequestered in a corner of the room, her pale blond hair a beacon in the dim lighting. “Over here, Regulus,” she called, gesturing with her arm. Bellatrix had also wandered over, along with Lucius.

“How have you been, Cissy?” he asked. “The child’s coming along well, I hope. Have you decided on names?”

Narcissa looked chuffed at the question. “I’m doing quite well, Regulus, thank you for asking. I was thinking of naming him -- it’s a boy, by the way! -- Draco. Draco Lucius Malfoy. How does that sound?”

Regulus smiled. “Continuing the tradition, I see. We haven’t had any Draco’s in the family yet, have we?”

Narcissa nodded. “No, we haven’t. That’s why I chose it, of course. And it has a nice ring to it.”

Regulus and Narcissa chatted for a while, exchanging pleasantries and catching up on news. Lucius and Bellatrix lurked around, until Lucius was called back by the Dark Lord for some matter. Bellatrix interjected every now and then with her own little jibe, leading to Narcissa glaring at her more than a few times.

It was in moments like these that Regulus felt most acutely the absence of Andromeda and Sirius. Andromeda had left much earlier than Sirius, but Regulus remembered how she had been a quiet contrast to Bellatrix’s outspokenness, and a warmer version of Narcissa’s usual cold exterior. Sirius had been his own brand of mischief, playing small pranks and jokingly getting under everyone’s skin at every gathering. The two wouldn’t be caught dead at a Death Eater meeting, of course, but back when it was just family and they were young, without the pressures of politics right in their faces, it had been fun.

Now it was just Regulus Black, heir to the Black family, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Lucius returned, looking rather self-important. “What is it, Lucius?” Narcissa inquired.

“I was just asked to keep an important dark artefact safe for the Dark Lord,” he replied.

Regulus’ eye twitched. If this was what he  _ thought _ it was . . .

“What kind of object?” Narcissa asked again.

“Just a black book; it looks like some sort of diary. Apparently,” he added, “it can be used to reopen the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts, perhaps even purge it of all the Muggleborns. . .”

Since Regulus couldn’t very well just snatch the damn thing from  _ Luscious _ , he clenched his fists and decided to take his leave. He could return later and convince Narcissa to let him down into the cellar later, and then he would take immense pleasure in purging  _ every last bit  _ of that madman’s soul.

What had that prophecy said? Seven ways, seven ties?

If nothing else, Regulus would make damn well sure that by the time he was through, the Dark Lord would most certainly fear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . And due to a series of highly improbable events, the prophecy completely changed. Go figure. I tweaked it a bit so that it was a lot more ambiguous than the original one was, and since Regulus is the only one hearing it, it's gonna have a lot less of an impact as well. Lots of assorted Death Eaters mentioned here as well, I had fun researching what they did during the war. It was a bit difficult figuring out what exactly a Death Eater meeting would even consist of, and I have no clue how the hell they would be infiltrating the government or screwing with the Order other than just murder them, but I tried. Also, technically speaking the Bones were murdered a year later but like . . .plot.


	11. Like Phoenix Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus gets called into the Headmaster's office for a family matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's quite short but I can (maybe) promise the next one will be longer!

_ January 28, 1980 _

Regulus refolded the letter that he had received from his mother that morning, setting it ablaze with a quick tap of his wand and letting the ashes drift from his fingers to the floor. The letter had been brusque but grudgingly full of praise for his current status within Voldemort’s circle, and as always warning him to maintain his current position.

He almost couldn’t remember a time where his mother’s praise meant something to him anymore. Maybe when he was eight and being compared to Sirius whenever he acted out. Maybe when he was eleven and being fawned over for being sorted into Slytherin, not like the  _ traitor _ who had forsaken his family and duty. Maybe when he was fourteen and watching a name on a piece of cloth being stricken off with a blast as loud as any gunshot. Maybe when he was fifteen and painstakingly painting a coat of arms onto the walls, praying his own wouldn’t be next. Maybe when he was sixteen and had that mark burned onto his arm, blinking back tears as he gave himself up for a cause that he knew in his heart didn’t really mean anything, and was just as much of a sham as his family’s veneer of royalty. Maybe even when he was seventeen and giving up his closest confidant to that very same cause, in the hopes that this might finally be what elevated him to more than just the heir in everyone’s eyes.

How very selfish he had been. He hadn’t been thinking of Sirius’ pain from being so quickly shut out for the singular sin of falling in with the lions instead of the snakes, only his own fear of being punished for doing the very same. He hadn’t been thinking of the Muggleborns dying when he joined the Death Eaters that night, only his own rise in social standing and perhaps his mother and father’s favor. He hadn’t even thought of what might happen to poor Kreacher, his only ally in that household; hell, he’d been lying when he said that it would be an  _ honor _ , as though aiding a monster in their search for immortality was any such thing.

Those months afterwards had been excruciating for him, mentally and emotionally. Being forced to reexamine every single one of his actions, learning what was his own thought and what was something he had regurgitated from lifelong lessons on what it meant to be a Black, asking Madam Pince for where to locate books specifically related to Muggle culture in the Hogwarts library, consciously stopping himself from sneering at something he read or saw and instead look at it critically. And it had been, well, eye-opening. Who knew that Muggles had been responsible for so many innovations and creations that wizards now took for granted? Who knew that there was so much wonderful art and literature that had previously been hidden from him, simply on the basis that it was made by a Muggle and not a wizard and therefore inferior? Who knew that Muggles and wizards were truly one and the same, only one had magic and the other did not?

It hadn’t all been unicorns and puffskeins, of course. He had retched at the descriptions of various wars and battles, so much more brutal in their numbers and bloodshed than any wizarding ones he had read. For a brief moment when learning about some of the weapons utilized by them he had nearly reconsidered his changing ideology, but then he remembered that spells like the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus existed, and he had managed to calm himself down.

And it was once he had firmly and utterly destroyed those preconceptions that he had found it within himself to want to start fighting back. He had done it in the only way that he felt he could without giving up the knowledge that he had of Voldemort’s weakness to Voldemort himself. And he had believed he would die at the very least for what he knew was right, only to survive and realize just how much more work there was to be done if he truly wanted to make a difference.

What was his mother compared to that?

Regulus shook himself out of his musing at the sight of Professor Mcgonagall briskly striding towards him across the corridor. He wondered what she could need him for. He hadn’t ever shown a particular proclivity for Transfiguration, despite his liberal usage of it recently.

“Mr. Black,” she said severely,”your presence is required by the Headmaster at the moment.”

He felt a cold shard of fear at the statement. Could Dumbledore have somehow gotten information on his whereabouts after their meeting in Hogsmeade? Perhaps he wanted to threaten him, maybe have him removed from the school, or worse.

“Did he give a reason for his request, Professor?” he asked Professor Mcgonagall carefully.

“Only a simple family matter, Mr. Black,”she replied matter of factly.

_ There’s no such thing as a simple Black family matter _ , he thought wryly. Nevertheless, he headed for the third floor gargoyle, where Mcgonagall uttered the latest password (“Jelly slugs”) and he entered the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, writing out some sort of letter with a giant quill. Many of the portraits around him appeared to be either sleeping, dozing, or entirely empty, although Regulus noted that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus appeared to be entirely awake and alert. Upon his entrance, Dumbledore put down the quill and clasped his hands, looking up at Regulus.

“Hello, Headmaster,” he said. “Is something wrong? I heard I was needed for a family matter.”

The Headmaster nodded. “Yes, that is indeed the case. Your grandfather has contracted a minor case of Dragon Pox recently and requested that you visit the Ministry of Magic as his proxy for the vote on the recent bill on poaching.” He looked over his half-moon glasses at a small slip of paper. “He has asked me to arrange for a Floo at approximately two on the sixteenth of February to his dwellings for you.”

Regulus contemplated this information in his head. “Do I get a choice in this matter?”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled in an amused manner as he said “Arcturus did not specify that in his letter.”

Regulus snorted. “Of course not.” He paused, considering his next words. “Did he at least say how bad the Dragon Pox was? Grandfather’s a bit prone to downplaying his symptoms.”

The portrait of Phineas cleared its throat. “Rest assured, young Regulus, my grandson won’t be shuffling off this mortal coil just yet. Walburga visited him a few days ago, and he’s reportedly doing about as well as can be, all things considered. He’s a hardy man, he is.” The portrait wrinkled its nose slightly in distaste. “Not at all like your father was -- what was it, a bad case of spattergroit?”

Regulus stifled a laugh. “No, he had a wasting curse accidentally backfire on him, although I can see how you could confuse the two. We had a hard time cleaning up the body because of that.”

Phineas sighed dramatically. “A backfired curse, of all foolish things? The man was a wardmaster, for Merlin’s sake!”

Regulus shook his head. “Father was very good at casting enough spells to tangle them together like a ball of yarn, sir. Not so much at the disentangling part.”

The portrait scoffed. “A wardmaster that has no knowledge of how to undo his own spells is as good as any old fool with a wand and a book of curses. I’d be afraid to have him securing my household.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I can undo most of the spells he could cast, isn’t it?” Regulus replied cheerily.

At that point, Dumbledore interrupted with a pointed cough. “While this is an exceedingly entertaining conversation, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut it short. Mr. Black, will you be able to make it to my office at the aforementioned date and time?”

Regulus nodded in affirmation. “Yes, I’ll be able to do that. Is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

As Regulus turned to leave, he noticed the Headmaster’s phoenix, Fawkes -- the namesake of Dumbledore’s Order. The phoenix’s intelligent black eyes were boring into his own from his perch, and Regulus wasn’t quite sure how long he stood there, feeling as though he was being examined from every angle, before -- and he nearly fell out of surprise -- the phoenix uttered one long trilling note that filled him with a sense of warmth and calm; he felt ready to take on anything when he heard it. Then Fawkes leaped from his perch and swooped once around his head before settling on his shoulder, ducking his head into Regulus’ neck. Regulus stood stock-still, wondering what in the world was going on. He cautiously raised a hand and began stroking the phoenix’s head, the downy plumage sliding through his fingers. He marveled inwardly at the heat radiating from the creature; it felt like a miniature fireplace sitting on his shoulder.

Regulus turned his head to look at Dumbledore helplessly; the man appeared almost as surprised as Regulus, and yet he also seemed to be calculating something. At last, he said,”I have found that phoenixes are almost always excellent judges of character, Mr. Black. That Fawkes should take such a liking to you speaks quite highly of you.”

Regulus was not sure how to respond to this, and so he settled for a mumbled “Thank you” and walked over to the perch to let Fawkes back to his previous rest. Then he hurried on out of the office, once again with multiple questions on his mind. It seemed that as time went on, only more and more strange things were happening to him. What they all meant, he still didn’t know for sure, but he knew he would at least have to try and find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one had quite a bit of introspection in it. While writing it I had an idea for a plot twist that made me cackle. No idea whether I should incorporate it or not, and I'm not even sure what I would end up doing with it, but it would somewhat make sense and also be fairly convenient. Also, I didn't even know half of what happened in this one would happen, I just kind of knew that Regulus would be going to the Headmaster's office and then I realized "oh wow there's a lot of cool stuff in there."


	12. Something's Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus goes to the Ministry and does some undercover work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter, and I'm still not happy with it, but oh well. The dialogue was the hardest part, and it was getting really long too, and I was worried about messing that part up the entire time.

Rubbing at his tired eyes, Regulus let out a yawn as he hunched over his notebook with an ink-stained quill in hand. He had been attempting to compartmentalize all the strange things and new information that he had discovered thus far, and it was shaping up to be another late night.

_Hx._

  * _S. lck ✓_


  * H. cp (?)*


  * Dy. (?)**


  * n/a


  * n/a


  * n/a


  * n/a OR DL



_*Bl v.!_

_**M. m!_

_Pb. 4,5,6_

  * _G. sw??_



_Aol wvdly av chuxbpzo aol khyr svyk hwwyvhjolz / aol vul dov mlhyz klhao dpss mlhy aol vul dov mhjlz pa dpao hu vwlu ztpsl /pu zlclu dhfz spl zlclu aplz / zlclylk av thrl opt tvyahs vujl tvyl / zlclylk if aol vul dov pz opz thajo / Aol wvdly av chuxbpzo aol khyr svyk hwwyvhjolz ._

_Pb. Mod_

  * _Ff(!)_


  * Bv($$)


  * Ak??



_DL_

_T.M.R!!_

_Hw(1938-1945)_

  1. _Hg_



  * _G. Sh_



  1. _Gt_



_|_

_Mf. Gt--Mr.Gt.—T.R(?)_

_|_

_T.M.R➡D.L(?)_

_Bn. f._

  * _M.o.M_


  * A. Bn?


  * F.f. hs➡T. sh➡Sw. Bd?


  * V. cab ch?



Regulus looked over his page of barely understandable notes. Anyone who knew what exactly he was writing about could probably deduce enough information given the time, but to a random person it would probably look like a bunch of gibberish, which was exactly what he wanted. His security measures now included a password, a charm that alerted him to any unwanted persons that attempted touching the book, a curse that caused severe boils to develop on anyone who then tried to open the book, an encryption charm that further scrambled the ink on the page to passerby, and a passive spell that would cause the book to burst into flames if he chose to do so at any given moment. Maybe a bit overkill, but really, he could have done much worse if he wanted to and had only kept the spells relatively tame in order to make sure it didn’t end up looking _more_ suspicious at Hogwarts.

He sighed. His plan right now depended heavily on the trust and goodwill of other people, along with an extreme amount of luck. That, and a lot of coordination that he wouldn’t be able to keep track of. It was all very frustrating, and there was so much that could go wrong. But it was the only shot he would have in a long time, and he didn’t want any more blood on his hands.

In one of the compartments of Regulus’ trunk were two small empty metal matchboxes engraved with simple carvings of snakes around the sides. The containers were attached so that they weren’t liable to slip out if jostled around, and slid out such that one could feasibly slip a folded piece of paper inside of it, which was exactly why Regulus had decided to use them.

Before Regulus had been chosen to take a more active role in the Death Eaters, he had been tasked with researching the properties of the Vanishing Cabinets utilized by many of the magical families that were attacked by Voldemort’s underlings. They were a curious invention, capable of deceiving even the most complex of wards, bypassing any of the measures taken beforehand on the unlucky household to ensure that no one escaped. The enchantments on the cabinets were weaved throughout each and every part of the structure, such that even a few missing pieces could lead to a malfunction, and the loss of one of a pair would render them essentially useless. Mass production of the cabinets wasn’t exactly feasible due to their finicky nature, but nonetheless there were several pairs circulating that gave the Death Eaters a lot of trouble.

So, Regulus had wondered, how would this function on a much smaller container? He knew the incantation for the spell to enchant a pair of identical containers, and the smaller size meant that it would be much less tedious going through all the individual pieces, although the spellwork would have to be a bit finer. The connection was a bit more delicate, and he’d have to spell the container to make it more sturdy -- he’d chosen metal to reinforce that as well. And it had worked! He had placed a small slip of paper inside one of the matchboxes and slid it shut, and voila, it had materialized in its counterpart.

Since the smaller size would make the matchboxes much easier to lose or steal, Regulus had also included a few security measures, although they wouldn’t kick into effect until Regulus had specified an owner. For now, Regulus had bound one of the matchboxes to himself so that it wouldn’t open unless it was his touch (he had taken inspiration from the charm placed on the Snitches in Quidditch games) but he had yet to do the same to the other one. He’d also spelled them so that a small vibration would be sent to the person holding the other one if something was sent through one of the matchboxes.

All this effort would be for naught if Regulus failed to convince the person he intended the second part of the set for, of course. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared, however, and Regulus wanted to ensure at least one discreet and near foolproof method of communication before he went through with the plan.

With another heavy yawn, Regulus uttered a _Nox_ and turned in for the night.

***

“I assume you have everything in place for your visit?”

Regulus nodded, standing attentively in front of the Headmaster’s desk. He had made sure to wear a set of his more official-looking robes, along with a few other things in his pockets.

“Very well. The Floo powder is on top of the mantle in the silver jar.”

Regulus took a handful of the powder, clearly enunciating “Black Manor!” before ducking fluidly into the green flames. He stepped out through the other end with a grace that had become muscle memory after having the lesson ingrained into him since childhood.

Black Manor was located in a far more secluded area than Grimmauld Place, which was fitting considering its inhabitants. Arcturus Black was a crabby man on the best of days and preferred hiding in the large country manor doing whatever rich old men did in their spare time rather than go out and interact with others. He had basically been a recluse ever since Melania had died.

As Regulus took in the room, he felt a presence underneath him. Looking down, he saw his grandfather’s crup, Saiph, nosing about at the bottom of his robes. Saiph had been bred to have a dark black coat and his tail had been left unsevered, likely due to some strings pulled by his grandfather in the Ministry. He had used to be a hunting dog but had stopped due to both his own and Arcturus’ gaining years. Regulus had fond memories of his visits to Black Manor, running around with Sirius while playing fetch with Saiph, who would always bark happily whenever the two would arrive. Walburga had never liked that very much, and would constantly scold the two when they became disheveled during their play. She had hexed the crup on more than one occasion.

Once Regulus had finished cooing and petting Saiph, he straightened and glanced again to see who was there. In front of him was his grandfather’s house elf, Bonnit, standing silently.

“Hello, Bonnit,” Regulus said soberly. “How is Grandfather doing?”

“Master is still very sick,” she said. “Master cannot get out of bed so he asked Bonnit to bring young Master Regulus to his room.”

“Lead the way then, Bonnit,” Regulus replied.

Regulus cast a Bubble Head charm on himself as he followed Bonnit up the stairs and down the long, winding halls. She finally stopped outside one of the rooms, and Regulus stepped up and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” rasped a gruff voice.

Regulus turned the knob and surveyed the scene before him. Grandfather, who always looked so imposing with his dark robes, tall stature, and stern expression, was currently lying in bed with a greenish tinge and several pinkish pockmarks dotting his arms. There was an opaque silvery barrier surrounding his bed, and on the dresser next to the bed were several empty potion bottles littering the surface.

“Hello Grandfather,” said Regulus by way of greeting. “I’ve come for the papers with your permission to have me as your proxy at the Ministry.”

Arcturus waved irritably in the direction of a small writing desk. There was a neat little scroll lying on it. “The contract is over there,” he said. “Take it and make sure to give it first to the department Head, else they’ll be coming for mine.” He hacked a cough, sparks flying from his throat.

Regulus paused as he picked up the scroll, turning around. “I asked Phineas in the Headmaster’s office about your condition. He didn’t mention it being this bad. Has anyone else checked on you since Mother’s visit? I doubt she did a very good job of making sure you’re being looked after well while you’re bedridden.”

Arcturus, who had settled back into his pillow with his eyes closed, opened one of them to glare at him. “I am doing quite well with what I have, Regulus. Your concern right now should be fulfilling your duties as the next heir instead of fussing over a minor ailment.”

“That ‘minor ailment’ has killed off far more wizards than we have the records to keep track of since the first century,” Regulus said sharply. “Forgive me for my concern. I’ll owl the mediwizards at St. Mungo’s to check on you again tomorrow.”

Arcturus eyed him wearily, before relaxing back into his sheets. “Just like Melania,” he muttered to himself. “Never could stop being such a hen.”

Instead of acknowledging the statement, Regulus turned on his heel and left. He nodded in farewell to Bonnit, who silently closed the door behind him.

***

Regulus strode through the halls of Level 2, attempting to look as though he belonged there. In truth, he had already signed off on the bill after presenting the scroll back on Level 4, and didn’t really have an official reason to be walking through the headquarters of the DMLE. His eyes roved over the many doors leading to the offices of different members of the department, searching for the one he had in mind. Finally he arrived at the section for the Improper Use of Magic Office and stood before the door that he knew belonged to a certain Amelia Bones of the Bones family. Checking first to make sure that no one was paying any mind to him, he knocked on the door.

“Come on in,” said a businesslike voice from inside the office. The door swung open on its own, and Regulus stepped in, hoping his nervousness wasn’t showing on his face.

Amelia Bones was a serious-looking witch with close-cropped brunette hair and a squarish jaw. She was currently sitting in front of a neat but cluttered desk, with several piles of paper stacked along the side as well as a bottle of ink next to a nameplate and a picture of what seemed like a large gathering. There were certificates and medals hanging on the wall behind her, several of which appeared to be for duelling. Underneath them were wooden filing cabinets, a few of which were open and had files taken out. There was a closet to the left of the room and shelves to the far right housing objects that had been enchanted in several different ways and obviously created some unfortunate results; one of them was a caged set of what looked like biting dentures, another a writhing pot of catnip emitting mewling noises, and perhaps a stuffed parrot head that was trying to say something but was silenced with a charm. Bones herself was writing with a plain quill on one of the papers from the several stacks with a file open next to her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked carelessly as she dipped her quill back into the inkpot and finished writing out a statement on the parchment in front of her.  
  
Regulus steeled himself and prayed that this worked. “Madam Bones,” he began, “I have a request to make of you. I believe it is extremely pertinent to you and your family, and I ask that this conversation be treated with the utmost privacy.”

Bones finally looked up from her paperwork and set down her quill as she scrutinized Regulus. “You look like a Black,” she declared at last. “The youngest of them too. I assume you are Regulus Black, heir to the house of Black?”

Regulus nodded. “That is indeed me,” he said dryly.

She frowned. “Aren’t you still supposed to be attending Hogwarts?”

“I came here as a proxy for my grandfather in order to sign a bill in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I took a bit of a detour on my way out.”

She considered the information, then pulled out her wand and waved it, shutting the door and applying a few strong privacy charms to it, Then she conjured a chair and motioned for him to sit.

Regulus sat himself down stiffly, then reached for his own wand. “May I cast some of my own?” he asked. “There might be eavesdropping charms as well.”

Bones pursed her lips, then nodded. She kept her wand out however, and it was trained on him the entire time. Regulus cast the spells, and thankfully found that there were no charms or jinxes out to exploit them. He also gave the room another once-over to see if there were any portraits lying about, which there were none of.

“Now then,” she said when he was finally done checking the room. “Talk.”

“Your family is currently at risk of being destroyed by the Dark Lord’s forces.”

Bones’ eyes flashed, and she leaned forward dangerously. “That is the case for anyone that is opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Why come to me with such obvious information? Unless there is, of course, a confession you want to make.”

Regulus refused to let himself shake, even in face of the powerful and most certainly angry witch before him. “I’m sure you’re aware of Dumbledore’s vigilante organization, the Order of the Phoenix.” He paused. “Maybe even have family in it.”

Bones’ face paled, and she gripped her wand even more tightly. “I wouldn’t know, since I have no part in it,” she replied.

Well, that made sense. Bones wasn’t about to give up any important information that easily. No matter, since Regulus already knew full well what involvement the family had with the Order.

“In any case, the point is that they have a target painted on their back. The location of the Bones household has been revealed to the Dark Lord. Their household, as well as they themselves, is set to be entirely burned to the ground in a little over a week, on the 24th.”

Bones looked at him in shock, seeming to struggle to comprehend this information. After a few beats, she appeared to regain control of herself and asked, a little shakily, “Do you have any proof of this statement? You could very well be attempting to set my family up for even greater danger.”

Regulus felt a small hint of satisfaction as he reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a small corked vial full of a silvery substance. “I assume you have a Pensieve somewhere?”

Bones got up and walked over to the closet, and carried over an unwieldy bowl carved over with runes and embedded with jewels. It landed on the table with a resounding _thunk_ , and Bones looked over at Regulus. “These memories have better not been tampered with.”

“You’d notice if they had been,” Regulus said sincerely. He stood up and poured out the vial into the bowl, and waited for the memory of the meeting to surface.

Bones watched the memory silently, examining and analyzing every bit of it hungrily, taking in the voices of the assorted Death Eaters, the face of Voldemort himself, the words being exchanged. He was sure she would probably want to use this as a chance to arrest them all, but he knew that couldn’t be done. Not yet, unless they wanted to completely blow his cover.

When the memory had finally ended, Regulus took the chance to spool it back into the vial with his wand. “I’ll have to destroy it,” he said, and added “I can’t have evidence of my coming here lying about,” at the witch’s mutinous look.

“So you’re a Death Eater,” she said.

“Yes, technically,” Regulus said.

Bones threw Regulus a dirty look. “What in the bloody hell do you mean by ‘technically’? You are clearly taking orders on You-Know-Who’s behalf -- hell, you’ve been asked to murder my entire family! What are you even doing here? Come to murder me personally?”

“I meant technically as in I want out,” Regulus replied. “Unfortunately, since I can’t very well hand in my resignation, I’ve arrived at the second best option.”

“A Ministry worker is your second best option?” she asked. “Aren’t you still in Hogwarts? You could go right to Dumbledore and beg him to have mercy on you or something if you really wanted out.”

“The walls in Hogwarts have eyes and ears,” he said cryptically. “And I’m sure you heard the part about the Dark Lord receiving his information from someone in the Order. I won’t go to them until I know for sure a spy is no longer in it.”

“So you’d rather come to me? What do you expect me to do?”

“Well, for one, this is your family we’re talking about. You’d do anything to keep them safe, even if it meant having to listen to the word of a Death Eater. For another, you’re a Ministry official in the DMLE, and that means you have connections to the Auror Department and the magical safehouses in place. I’m sure you’d be able to arrange for a discreet getaway, and you’re a capable enough witch to know who to trust and who to ignore. And if not, well, I most certainly do.”

Bones considered this information. “I could in fact arrange for that, but that still doesn’t answer why I shouldn’t call for the Aurors and have you thrown into Azkaban right now.”

Regulus inhaled. “Would you rather have no knowledge at all of what the Dark Lord’s next move will be? No one at all who could possibly sabotage the Death Eater’s from the inside out, no one to warn of another attack? The Ministry is flailing trying to uphold its own laws and jurisdictions, it can barely counter the actual threats that his forces hold! The Order is the only thing keeping _Voldemort_ on his toes at the moment, and now that someone is betraying them it’s only a matter of time before the tide really begins to turn and Wizarding Britain is completely overtaken, not to mention the Muggles as well. Guess what? Your brother has landed more than his fair share of hits on some of the members, and I’d much rather not have the blood of any more good men on my hands. I can at the very least help to make sure no one else comes after him.”

With that out of the way, Regulus fell silent. He waited for the witch to respond, hoping he had managed to somewhat convince her.

She regarded him carefully before finally giving a snort and settling back down into. “How very noble of you. Unfortunately, you haven’t presented me with any feasible method of doing any such thing without resulting in both my own and your demise.”

Regulus sighed. “I was _getting_ to that,” he grumbled before pulling out the matchboxes from his pocket and placing them on the desk.

Bones eyed them curiously. “What are those?” she asked.

“A method of communication. Patronuses are too obvious and owls take too long, so I made these. I’ve keyed mine so only I can open it, but you need to touch that one if you want it keyed to yourself.”

She cast a few charms on it before picking it up and examining it carefully, sliding it open. “I assume you put in a note in one to send it to the other?”

“Yes. I also added an enchantment to send a little alert when something comes through.”

“Well, if we’re going to be passing along notes, you’d better at least give me your handwriting. Just in case your spellwork isn’t quite up to par.”

That was actually a good idea. Regulus silently cursed himself for not thinking of that earlier, and he scrawled out his name and some random words while Bones did the same, and they exchanged notes. Regulus memorized his and then incinerated it while Bones watched with a raised eyebrow, before proceeding to do the same.

“With that out of the way, let’s get on with this plan of yours. You said you didn’t want to involve the Order, but I’m honestly not sure how that’s possible, what with my brother’s involvement in it -- oh, don’t give me that look, you already know. I have a few contacts that I trust to stay quiet, but I’ll have to discuss things with Edgar face to face first. What about things on your end?”

“Well, you see . . .”

***

Regulus slipped out of the office as quietly as he had entered, and power-walked back to the Atrium with an aloof, disinterested look. In reality, he had just had one of the most intense discussions in his life. Bones had drilled him for every bit of information he had on who to keep an eye out for in the Ministry, what times, dates, locations, and Apparition coordinates to have set, what type of enchantments might be used, and anything else that may have been useful. Regulus had explained most of those thoroughly, and together the two of them had put together a tentative plan of how things might proceed. They only had a week to put it together, and then it was left to pure luck that nobody would catch them. Regulus could only hope that the Dark Lord didn’t somehow get word of the betrayal. He trusted that Bones was powerful enough to fight off an Imperius, but there were always other methods of information extraction possible.

When Regulus finally Flooed himself back to Hogwarts, it was almost time for dinner. The Headmaster had remarked on the passage of time, to which Regulus had smoothly replied with a cutting jab at the inefficiency of the Ministry and its incompetence. When in doubt, insults were the way to go. Not that Dumbledore was going to be fooled by that, but he had no way of proving otherwise without making himself look bad, did he?

After leaving the office, he sent the letter he had promised to send to St. Mungo’s, and once he consumed a quick dinner of shepherd’s pie, he finally went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughh, spying and doing undercover things is so much harder when there's magic involved, because there's so many other ways to be discovered or caught. These mf's have mind reading, truth potions, eavesdropping charms, the whole shebang - how in the world are you supposed to hide anything? So I pulled a Dumbledore's Army and came up with another method of communication lol. Also I have a feeling this is not at all how you're supposed to do spying and shit but honestly at that point I was like y'know what, who the hell is about to perform Legilimency on Amelia fucking Bones, she can hold her own just fine whatever. And that page of notes was basically me at 3 am trying to summarize everything that I wrote while on my third coffee.


	13. Abrupt Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edgar is paid a visit by his sister and they have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I just wasn't feeling this chapter very much, so I only wrote a little despite taking so long, sorry bout that. I changed POVs again, so maybe that's why.

Edgar Bones had been tucking in his six year old girl for bed when he heard the rush of the Floo from the front. The only homes currently keyed to his Floo were his brother and sister’s, so he gave Aloise a final kiss on the forehead before moving towards the mantelpiece.

It was Amelia, then. She looked rather edgy, and Edgar wondered offhandedly if she was under an Imperius. He had his wand ready to draw if she was, but he really didn’t want to resort to fighting his own sister if he could help it. She hadn’t won all those duelling awards for nothing, after all.

“What spell did you use on the bloke that tried to cop a feel on Aurora during your seventh year?”

“I used a Shriveling Hex on his balls. Shame it only lasted three weeks. What did you say to Meredith when you heard she was up the duff?”

“As I recall, I asked her if I could name the child ‘proof I banged Meredith Jones’ and she slapped me and told me to at least decide on a ring first.”

“An apt reaction. No idea how you scored a bird as good as her, but at least your children have one sensible parent in the house.”

He finally relaxed and lowered his wand, and Amelia did the same, taking a seat on the nearby couch. Edgar observed how she still looked wary, eyes darting over the furniture and hands clenched tightly over her knees. “Well then . . . fancy a cuppa?” he offered, deciding that if they were going to have a talk he may as well get her to relax a bit.

Amelia gave him a tense smile. “Sure, Ed,” she replied.

Edgar came back with two steaming cups of tea and settled down in the armchair, waiting for Amelia to start talking. She seemed to be contemplating something, sipping her tea while looking on distantly. Finally, she set down her cup and fixed her brother with a serious look.

“Ed,” she began, “how are things?”

Edgar blinked, before giving her a reassuring smile. “Is that all? I thought something terrible happened at the Ministry, you looked like a doxy got into your paperwork again. Things have been fine here. Mum and Dad are currently sleeping upstairs, but I can go wake them up if you need to talk to them. I just put Aloise to bed, and Walt tuckered himself out a while ago with that broom Emile sent a while back. They’ve been clamoring for another visit, if you’re wondering. You work way too much these days.”

“Someone has to hold things together,” she muttered abashedly, scratching the back of her head. “It’s all gone to the dogs lately. Ministers can never be arsed to do things properly, and Crouch is a one man army at this point. Wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to stage a coup just to take over at this rate.”

“Ah, well, the man is trying his best,” Edgar said. “And I doubt he would actually do that. Far too much of a stickler for the rules for that.”

“You forget that he’s the one who authorized using the Unforgivables for the Aurors,” she replied darkly. “Not that I don’t understand, but it doesn’t make much of a difference if the other side is using them too, does it?”

“Every advantage helps.” Edgar shrugged. “Why play fair if the Death Eaters aren’t going to?”

“True,” she sighed. “Actually, Ed, about that. I have something I specifically came to ask you. It’s . . . about the Order.”

Edgar was instantly alert at the mention of it. He and Amelia had an unspoken agreement to never bring up the Order directly, even though it was basically an open secret in his family at this point that he was in it. Emile didn’t want to get involved in any of the fighting, and Amelia’s job meant that knowing anything too specific was risky.

“What is it?” The question came out more sharply than intended.

Amelia soldiered on. “I know that you fight for the Order, okay? It’s fine, I’d probably do that too if I wasn’t working at the Ministry. But You-Know-Who knows that as well. They know that you’re fighting directly against them, and that you’ve likely taken down more than a handful of his allies. And that puts us at even more risk than we already are. The entire Bones family is on his hit list right now. You, me, even the kids . . . they all have a target on their back.”

Edgar was silent as she spoke. He _knew_ this already. He knew how dangerous it was to be on the frontlines, hurling spells at ducking behind rubble, not knowing if one moment or the next would be the last one. He knew that being in the Order would bring more attention on them, more than being a halfblood did. He knew that it was selfish of him, to be doing all this when he had so many people, his kids, his parents, his wife, relying on him. And yet, wasn’t he doing this for them too? To make sure that none of them would have to deal with the monsters head on.

“We’ve gone over this already. I’ve warded this house like it’s bloody Nurmengard, there’s no one outside of you, Emile, and the Order that has any idea of where this place is, and if worse comes to worse, I’ll have everyone with their emergency Portkeys ready to hightail it out of here.”

Amelia fiddled with the handle of her teacup, before finally saying,”I wouldn’t be so sure that we’re the only ones that know where this is.”

  
“I--what? Did you tell somebody where we live?”

“No! I would never do that, I’m not that stupid. I was told from an outside source. According to them, You-Know-Who knows exactly where you live and he’s going to come here to murder everyone living here next Sunday.”

Edgar raised an eyebrow. “And you seriously trust this so-called ‘outside source’? Could just be winding us up for a surprise attack.”

“They gave me memories. And before you ask, no, they weren’t tampered with, I know very well what tampered memories look like. It was one of their meetings, they were talking about an inside source in the Order feeding them information. The details match up with the descriptions of their masks that we have from the Auror reports, and they definitely had the right location, so there’s no way they could be lying about knowing that.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute -- there’s a spy? In the Order?”

“Where else? And the damn thing made it pretty clear that there is a spy! The fucker was bragging about it!”

Edgar rubbed his temple, feeling as though a migraine was coming. He got up and began to pace. “We need to go to Dumbledore then. If there’s a spy -- _sweet Merlin there’s a spy_ \-- then we need to let Dumbledore know before it’s too late.”

“Sit back down Edgar, I have a plan and you’re going to commit it to memory before you go anywhere near Dumbledore, okay?”

“Plan? Why would you have a plan?”

  
“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I don’t want to see everyone I love dead? Now _sit_ your bloody arse back down, because I just spent four hours working on this and shoved my actual work into half an hour, and I refuse to let it go to waste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me randomly wondering what members of the Bones family there are out there. Other than Amelia and Edgar, there's one other sibling out there that has had kids, who would have had Susan Bones. I was thinking about backstories for minor-minor OC characters, and I decided Meredith Bones nee Jones is a Muggleborn, possibly Welsh? Dunno why, it just made sense. The older kid, Walter, is currently 8 years old, Amelia is 24 years old, Edgar is 33, and Emile is 28. The reason Edgar knows about the hex Amelia used was because they got wasted and made a bunch of drunk confessions with each other. Also, I get strong lesbian vibes from Amelia and I'm not sure why, but guess what now she dated Aurora Sinistra in seventh year in this fic. Edgar's personality was difficult for me to pin down, but I guess he's the cautious and overthinking type, but also very caring.


	14. Let's Burn This House Down!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus finally pulls off another little sneaky, all while having the time of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a block for nearly the past two weeks and I finally sat myself down today to write the rest of this chapter out. Nearly two weeks, but here it is. I hope this isn't underwhelming.  
> Oh and by the way, there's gonna be arson and burning in this chapter. Not of human body parts (yet), but it's there.

Albus Dumbledore was a man with a lot on his plate these days, and as such he spent most of his hours not occupied with running a school staying up late, working on plans. Most of his plans involved the liberal usage of a very select group of highly specialized individuals, and losing even one of them often meant the reworking of days of hard work. It was for this reason that when he received a silvery honey badger requesting his urgent presence at the Bones household with the voice of Edgar Bones, who he knew to be not only a wonderful individual but also one of the more powerful wizards in said group, he did not hesitate to put everything down and turn to Fawkes, who had been dozing fitfully for a while but was now sitting alertly on his perch.

“You’ll take me then, old friend?” he inquired the phoenix.

They flapped their wings in affirmative and flew over to his desk, which he rose from with a sigh before reaching out to grab ahold of one of the bird’s tail feathers. Both of them disappeared in a burst of flames and reappeared in a familiar sitting room. Albus saw that Edgar, along with, surprisingly, his sister Amelia, were both waiting for him there.

“Hello there, Edgar, and you too of course, Amelia. I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see your sister when you called for me. What seems to be the matter?”

“My family is in danger,” he said bluntly.

Next to him, Amelia rolled her eyes. “A little more specific than that, dear brother!” She turned to Dumbledore. “What he means is that right now, the Death Eaters are aware of where my brother’s family and our parents live, and are planning to attack in about a week.”

As she spoke, Albus’ eyebrows rose higher and higher. “And how would you have happened to come by such information, Amelia? I know you work in the Ministry, but surely the Death Eaters wouldn’t have been discussing their plans so publicly.”

Amelia waved her hand. “Call it a private informant,” she said airily. “I received a memory from the individual that more than proved that that was the case, and even worse, apparently there’s a rat in the Order.”

Albus settled down on the couch for what he assumed would likely be a lengthy discussion, clasping his hands on his lap with Fawkes perched on the armrest. “I assume you’re sure of this information?”

“Very much so, sir. The memory was . . . of one of the meetings. It was very clear that they knew of our whereabouts, and the time of the attack that’s planned is next Sunday, around six in the evening. They plan to first set up an Anti-Disapparition Jinx around the perimeter of the house, then use Fiendfyre to entirely burn this place to the ground.”

“A rather extreme method, I must say. But I suppose they are extremists. Would you like for your family to be moved to a different safehouse then, Amelia? I can certainly arrange for that, although something tells me that’s not what you have in mind.”

Edgar heaved a sigh and crossed his arms as Amelia drew herself up with a glint in her eyes. “You’d be right sir. See, if Edgar happened to suddenly disappear right when an attack was planned, that would be fairly suspicious to the Death Eaters. They’d be aware that we know that there’s a spy in the Order, and the person who gave me the information would also be in danger. It’s much more useful for us to continue to have someone on the inside who could inform us of any moves the Death Eaters are making ahead of time, but in order to do that we have to make it seem like Edgar and our parents are dead in the attack.”

“So this mysterious person has agreed to spy on the Death Eaters? I assume from the fact that they have insider knowledge such as the date and time of attacks that they are a Death Eater themselves.”

“You’d be right, although they asked to remain anonymous. They felt it would be too risky to go directly to you and so they came to me instead.”

“Intriguing. What do you suggest then, Amelia? Other than staging a death ahead of time I see no way to fool Voldemort into believing that one of the Order has been slain. Even that may fail to fully convince him.”

“About that. I have a direct line of communication with the other individual, and they will know exactly when the charms for checking where and how many people are inside will be cast. Even then, I plan on having a Vanishing Cabinet ready for my brother’s family and parents in order to be transported, so they’ll be able to get out relatively fast. There’ll be enough of a window of time in between the arrival of the Death Eaters and the attack for us to get out safely.”

“You seem very well prepared for this then. So I suppose you’ll be procuring your own set of cabinets then?”

“Yes. I have access to a few pairs from the Ministry, and I can arrange for a few Aurors to be ready for us at the safehouse. They can lead my parents and Edgar’s wife and kids out of the country with a Portkey.”

“Very well, then. Edgar, do you agree to this, or do you plan to continue fighting?”

Edgar grimaced. “I don’t see how I can continue doing that without revealing myself still being alive. It’d be better for me to continue pretending to be dead once the whole thing is carried out so we can keep getting information afterwards. The jig might be up for Amelia’s ‘informant’ otherwise.”

Albus sighed. “Are you sure you absolutely cannot reveal who this person is to me, Amelia? It might be easier to organize if I’m aware of who we’re dealing with. I can offer them protection as well, in case they are found out.”

Amelia looked slightly apologetic as she answered. “I don’t think I’d be able to do that without scaring them off, sir. They only came to me out of a stroke of luck, and I might be pushing it if I just blab my mouth to you.”

Albus was slightly tempted to use Legilimency on the woman to learn who exactly this Death Eater could be. But he had a feeling that those serious eyes of hers would know exactly what he was up to if he attempted to do so. So he resigned himself to having to leave this mystery for another day and make do with what little, yet troubling information he now had.

***

Planning a subterfuge long distance while also trying to get through a week of classes was not something that Regulus had ever thought he would have to do, but here he was, ducking into the third floor bathroom in between classes to see what Bones had sent him in the middle of a lecture. Her note had detailed briefly that she had managed to relay the information of their cobbled-together outline to her brother, and now was working on contacting other trusted individuals to help out. She was keeping his name entirely out of the discussions, of course.

Bones had told him that she had revealed to her brother the fact that there was a spy within the Order, which he wanted to reveal to Dumbledore, as well as the fact that she had received her information from someone’s memories. Regulus had accepted the fact that Dumbledore would need to know that one of his allies' family would be going into hiding, but he had been wary of whether or not the man would be pressing for details. Fortunately, she had managed to cajole Edgar into being rather tight-lipped about the whole ordeal, only revealing what his sister had told him, that there was a spy in the Order and she had received her information from a memory.

_ For the love of Merlin, whatever you do, don’t tell the old man it was me that told you. _

_ Relax, I only told him that it was a memory I knew hadn’t been tampered with and that the provider wished to remain private. _

_ You didn’t have Legilimency used on you? _

_ No, only a check for Imperius and the like. Thank you for the vote of confidence though. _

_ It’s a reasonable question. _

In this way the day of the mission creeped up on Regulus like a hunting Kneazle. He kept waking up in a cold sweat, and went out on midnight flights hoping to maybe work out some of the stress that built up over the day. He practiced wand movements over and over and attempted meditating in the hopes of further strengthening his Occlumency more than a few times.

The day of reckoning finally arrived on a cloudy Sunday morning, on which Regulus woke up feeling strung taut, the tension of the day to come making him feel more anxious than ever. The worst part was the fact that he still had a few hours to kill before the main event, which for him meant worrying over making sure the right items were prepared and checking and double checking to see that he had all the times and signals ready.

When the time came, Regulus made his way out to Hogsmeade, knowing that in the confusion of the crowd of students staying out late he likely wouldn’t be missed. The Apparition coordinates had long been memorized, and Regulus walked swiftly to one of the more secluded parts of Hogsmeade to make his trip. He would have to arrive at the destination soon, but first he wanted to check in with Kreacher to make sure that he was alright and that the Horcrux was still secure.

When he entered, Kreacher was waiting for him at the entrance, likely having sensed his presence already beforehand. “Master Regulus should be at school, not home. Kreacher knows not why he has returned so soon.”

Regulus crouched down in order to better see Kreacher’s wizened face. “I’m going on a mission today, Kreacher. I wanted to come home for a bit to check up on you and the  _ thing _ .”

“Kreacher is doing fine, Master. The thing, as Master puts it, is still hidden. Mistress has been more bad-tempered recently, but Kreacher has followed Master’s instructions to stay out of the way.”

“Excellent! I’m glad to see that you’re doing well. Just keep on making sure that no one else comes near it. Mother would have my hide and the Dark Lord my life if they found out.”

Kreacher looked mildly insulted at the insinuation that he would ever stop doing such a thing. “Kreacher is a good elf, Master.”

“Oh of course you are, I’m just being a worrywart.”

“Hmph.”

Regulus straightened up and was on his way to exit when the telltale sound of his mothers footsteps echoed down the hall. He hadn’t intended to meet her when he came but he supposed it was inevitable that she would have felt the shudder of the wards signalling his entrance.

_ Here we go _ , he thought grimly. He steeled himself for what was sure to be an exhausting encounter.

Walburga didn’t look as out of sorts as she had during his past visit to the house, and it made her look all the more menacing, eyes narrow and cutting rather than wide-eyed and frenzied. Regulus was sure she had her wand hidden somewhere in her sleeve, but he didn’t care to try and find out.

“Mother,” he said politely. “I was just seeing myself out. I have a mission from the Dark Lord to attend to.”

“Ah yes, that one.” she replied. “You’ve done well, being tasked with such a large responsibility. I suppose the question now is whether you can carry it.”

Regulus bit his tongue, trying not to let out a petulant  _ I bloody well can!  _ He didn’t want himself getting hexed right before he was about to carry out so much complex magic.

“I most certainly hope I can, Mother,” he replied bandly. “I’ll be off then, now. Farewell.”

He didn’t wait for a response. As the door shut he noticed with relief that Kreacher had already made himself invisible.

***

When Regulus Apparated into the given location, mask secured into place and robes pulled on, he was met with several other Death Eaters, all wearing their own masks and set of robes. Bellatrix wouldn’t be part of this team, which Regulus was grateful for. If he was the top dog on the mission there would be less people likely to question his decisions.

_ Well, here goes _ , he thought. Casting a mid-range  _ Sonorus _ on himself, he allowed his voice to fill the clearing, reaching everyone there. “I assume we all know what we are here for today,” he said. “Before we get started, we’ll have to dismantle the wards surrounding the household. I can do some of that myself, but if it was just me we’d be here all day. Therefore, I’ll need a few volunteers to assist me in that department while the rest of you scout the perimeters and line it with the standard enchantments so no one inside runs out.”

“Why do we have to get rid of the wards? If you’re using Fiendfyre you can just blast through them, can’t you?” someone gumbled amidst the dark grey mass.

Regulus allowed some amusement to color his voice as he responded. “What do you think happens if Fiendfyre interacts with layers upon layers of charms?” He waited a beat before answering his own question. “It explodes! Far more violently than it normally does! If you have a death wish, be my guest and make do with your flimsy Shield Charm, but don’t come crying if you’ve found your entire arm burned off with no chance of regrowth.”

With that cheery thought in everyone’s minds, Regulus split up the group into those he knew would be helpful in removing the spells on the house and those who would be able to add them. Casting a few more charms to make traversing the woods more silent, they made their way through the trees to where they knew the house would be, and once there, Regulus and two other Death Eaters made their way to the front of the house to begin their work. He knew them to be Macnair and Dolohov, two older and well-seasoned Death Eaters known for their viciousness and lethality. It was a bit disturbing, working alongside two veterans on what was really his first official mission.

“Well, kid, first mission, innit? How’s it shaping up to be?”

What kind of Merlin forsaken question was that? Regulus knew Dolohov was used to this sort of stuff, but who did  _ small talk _ in the middle of a murder mission?

“Not all that interesting, if I’m being honest. Perhaps I’ll just have to wait for the main event.”

“You’ve just gotta wait for the screams, lad. Won’t be doing a lot of torture today, unfortunately, but you might get there some other day.”

“Mhm.”  _ Fucking fuck, what the fuck? _

Once the wards had been dismantled, Regulus signalled to the others to gather around again.“I’ll be casting a Revealing Charm to make sure everyone in the house is accounted for. Make sure to have your wands ready to cast those jinxes once I’ve done so.”

As he walked back to the front of the house, he slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes to slip a note into his matchbox, unseen. “ _ Homenum Revelio _ ,” he intoned, with six markers showing up as he had known there would be.

“Now!” Regulus snapped, brandishing his wand. The Death Eaters to his side flicked their own wands, and the tell-tale pressure of an Anti-Disapparition Jinx fell into place. Then they immediately scattered, knowing what was to come and not desiring to be anywhere in vicinity of the oncoming storm.

Amelia had written that she had managed to procure two pairs of Vanishing Cabinets from the Ministry’s supplies. There was a team of Aurors along with Amelia herself stationed at the safe house on the other end of the cabinets, and six people being transported in total. When Regulus had slipped Amelia the note giving the okay to have the inhabitants of the house transported, she had sent a message through the cabinets, which Edgar had been waiting for on his own end. He had given them an estimated window of about a minute to transport themselves before the house would be set ablaze.

He sure as hell hoped that they were out by now, or else they’d really be in hot water. Just in case, Regulus was hoping to control the flames in such a way that they surrounded the house first before they consumed it entirely.

When the spell rolled off his tongue, the fire that burst from the tip of his wand came out as though it had been waiting its entire life for that moment. The first animal was a gigantic birdlike creature, with blindingly gold talons and vermillion feathers, a wingspan of nearly thirty feet, and piercing white eyes. The ensuing shriek it emitted was almost deafening, and the other wizards were quick to cover their ears as they cowered away from the blistering heat roiling off the inferno.

It flapped its wings once, twice, then soared the distance of the clearing in one fell swoop, emitting a burst of fire from its open maw. The impact of the veritable fireball caused the building to implode with a shuddering screech, brick and mortar alongside magical reinforcements self-destructing immediately upon contact.

Regulus concentrated, and a few more flicks of his wand conjured multiple smaller serpents alongside the towering figure of a dragon, who joined its companions in circling the structure. It was quite honestly beautiful despite its terrible nature, a swirl of red, orange and yellow caught up with flecks of an entire rainbow of color underneath, creating a mesmerizing display as the firestorm rose up higher and higher. They danced in a manner akin to joy, and he couldn’t help letting out a bark of laughter as the blazing animals roared excitedly. He felt like a conductor, moving his wand to a hidden tempo that the fire would follow without question.  _ He _ was in control. Not mother, not Bellatrix, no, not even the Dark Lord. Anyone trying to stop him now would find themselves reduced to less than cinders.

As the shrieking crescendoed, the fire reached its zenith, and Regulus brought his raised arms crashing down, along with every single beast and floating ember, which resulted in an explosion so very powerful that Regulus found himself multitasking, casting a Shield Charm as a circle of searing heat from the extreme pressure of the Fiendfyre radiated outwards. The heat itself had caused the woods to combust, and now there were several dozen miniature fires dancing alongside the largest one of all in the center. 

It was a literal, honest to god  _ crater _ . Smoke billowed from the hole in pungent sheets of sooty gray, and the impact had caused the previously loosely packed soil to harden into something much firmer. Iridescent blue and black streaks flowed through cracks on the ground, and more than a few trees had fallen over in the process. Embers still rained down upon the assembled wizards, some of whom had fallen over and hurt themselves while attempting to protect themselves from the onslaught of heat and energy.

Not a single bit of the house had been left behind.  _ This  _ was the destructive power of such a dark curse, able to decimate a previously handsome and well furnished household in not even a second.

There was one last thing to do, to seal the deal to the Dark Lord and the rest of his followers. Regulus walked forwards so that he was standing in the still uncomfortably warm crater and moved his wand in a figure-eight, before reciting the incantation for the same mark that was seared upon his left arm:  _ Morsmordre _ .

The sickly green skull rose up into the sky ominously, some of the winged creatures from the Fiendfyre Regulus had cast still flitting about. Regulus was rather surprised by that; he had meant to dispel the Fiendfyre entirely with the downward motion of his wand, but it appeared that some of the flames had managed to create a few more of the little hellspawn. Kinda like they had kids.

Ugh, he did not ever want to think of Fiendfyre in that context  _ ever _ again.

Regulus turned around triumphantly, allowing himself to bask in the backdrop of the combined lighting of the leftover Fiendfyre and the floating Mark. “The Aurors will be here soon!” he called from across the clearing. “If you don’t want yourself outnumbered, I suggest you leave while you can!”

With that, Regulus turned on the spot, Disapparating back first to a random alleyway in Muggle London, making a few stops in other locations across the city, and finally depositing himself at Grimmauld Place, where he promptly flopped down on the floorboards upon opening the door. Kreacher had squawked upon seeing the state of his person, and had taken him directly to his room, then proceeded to mutter unpleasantly about Master doing all sorts of things he shouldn’t be doing and leaving poor Kreacher to have to pick up the pieces afterwards, which Regulus had heartily agreed to.

As he recuperated from the sheer amount of magic he had done earlier, Regulus took out the matchbox and scrawled a note to Amelia:  _ Is everyone accounted for? _

He thankfully received a response in only a moment:  _ Yes _ .

A coil of tension that Regulus had been suppressing up to that point released immediately, and he slumped against the headboard of his bed in relief, letting out a shuddering breath. He had done it. He’d managed to not kill anyone in the middle of his little rampage with the curse. He hadn’t murdered anyone else. Maybe a little property damage, but what was life without some of that every once in a while?

“Kreacher, could I have a glass of water? I’m a little thirsty from the spell I used earlier,” he called out to Kreacher. The elf reappeared with a glass of water, which Regulus chugged down enthusiastically. He had changed out of his Death Eater robes, and had cast a few dozen housekeeping charms on his room so that the spells previously used would be harder to trace. It had been around an hour since his departure from Hogsmeade, and if he could make it back in time it would all be fine and well, with hopefully no one having taken notice of his absence. Regulus was far too tired to make yet another jump on his own, so he held out a hand for Kreacher to take him to Hogsmeade. Once there he gave Kreacher a hug and promised not to make old Kreacher have to pick his Master off the ground for at least another month (a promise he could only hope to uphold) before dismissing him.

And with that, he made his way back up to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I guess the title is a bit more literal now, eh? Writing Regulus burning stuff is so much fun, it gives me life imagining him laughing while everyone around him is screaming at the literal firestorm in front of them. I'm working on two other works at the moment as well, so it might be a while till the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> How was that for a first attempt? Let me know :D


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